Jealousy is Army Green
by CarpeDiemForLife
Summary: Though long gone, Trapper John is still present in the hearts and minds of the 4077th, especially of one Hawkeye Pierce. Tired of hearing about his predecessor, B.J. grows increasingly jealous every time Trapper's name is mentioned. While struggling to control these feelings, B.J. is forced to confront the possibility that there might be more at play than simple jealousy.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Okay, folks. I doubt this story will get much traffic, unless the M*A*S*H fandom is a whole lot more active than I think it is. Either way, M*A*S*H is one of my very favorite TV shows and, since I just finished watching all 11 seasons on Netflix, I of course couldn't resist writing some fanfiction. This is going to be a Hawkeye/B.J. story. (No Hawkeye/Trapper; they are only best friends here.) This is only the first chapter-Many more to come!_

 _Summary: Though long gone, Trapper John is still present in the hearts and minds of the 4077th, especially of one Hawkeye Pierce. Tired of hearing about his predecessor, B.J. grows increasingly jealous every time Trapper's name is mentioned. While struggling to control these feelings, B.J. is forced to confront the possibility that there might be more at play than simple jealousy._

* * *

Hawkeye and B.J. shifted down the line as Igor slopped food onto their trays.

"And tonight," Hawkeye announced, "we'll be having cockroach puree, lint al dente, and mystery greens!"

"Actually, sir, that's the meat," said Igor, serving B.J.'s rations of the food in question.

Hawkeye's stare darkened. He shook his head, an unamused smile stretching his thin lips. "No no. Don't say that. It's an insult to all the animals of the world."

"Especially the human ones," B.J. chimed in.

Tray full, Hawkeye sighed and glanced around the mess tent until he spotted Radar and Klinger. He and B.J. made their way over to the table, where they slid onto the bench in one fluid motion, almost as one conjoined person. Hawkeye reached immediately for the salt, B.J. for the pepper. When they'd finished, they swapped shakers.

"I don't even remember what meat _tastes_ like," said Hawkeye. "If I ever get back to the States, my taste buds will probably go into cardiac arrest the first time I eat real meat again."

"Try a diet of baby food for a while," said B.J. "Might help your taste buds ease through the transition."

"Oh, it's not so bad, sirs," said Radar, shoveling a bite into his mouth.

Hawkeye lifted his fork to his nose and sniffed, then took his first taste. Gagging, he pushed the tray across the table to the company clerk. "All yours, Radar," he said. "My condolences." Radar shrugged and pulled the tray closer, taking his next bite from it.

"I'm with you, sir," said Klinger, regarding his own tray with much the same look of disgust. He dropped his fork, throwing up his white, lace-gloved hands in surrender. "I may be crazy, but not crazy enough to eat that."

"It's _revolting_ ," complained Hawkeye.

"Enough to make you want to revolt," said B.J.

This offhand comment was met with a trio of nostalgic grins. B.J. paused, looking confusedly round at his friends.

"What?" he asked. "What'd I miss?"

"We tried that once, sir," Klinger confided.

"Tried what?"

"A revolt!"

Radar took up the gauntlet, continuing the story. "Cap'n Pierce got real tired of the food one day, see, and he—"

"Now wait, wait a minute," interrupted Hawkeye. He turned to B.J., eyes twinkling, hands gesturing. "What you have to understand is that for two weeks the kitchen had served only two things: liver and fish. It was inhuman! A lesser man would have broken down in tears."

"But not you," B.J. surmised.

"Not Captain Pierce indeed!" said Klinger, with a level of pride normally reserved only for Toledo.

"So what'd you do?"

"Well," said Hawkeye, smiling conspiratorially. "With a little help from my friends, I ordered in some _real_ meat." He sighed, placing a hand to his heart. "Barbequed ribs from the finest barbeque joint in all the U-S-of-A. Adam's Ribs."

"Adam's Ribs? Where's that?"

"Chicago."

" _Chicago_?" B.J. gave a bark of laughter. No matter how long he spent with Benjamin Franklin Pierce, the man always seemed to have another trick up his sleeve. B.J. had the feeling that when it came to Hawkeye, nothing was impossible. "How on earth did you manage to pull that off?"

But Hawkeye was lost in a dream of juicy ribs and barbeque sauce. He licked his lips as though he could taste them. Still half starry-eyed, he turned to B.J. again. "You wouldn't happen to know anyone in Chicago, would you?"

"Sure, all my dressmakers live there."

"Remind me why we keep you around?"

"For my sparkling wit and personality?"

"No, that's not it."

"My pretty face?"

"Aha! I knew there was something!"

Finished chewing a large mouthful, Radar stopped long enough to say, "Kinda makes ya wish Captain McIntyre were still here, don't it? I mean, I'm happy for him that he's home and all, I only mean for the ribs."

"You can say that again," Hawkeye agreed.

"Oh? What's McIntyre got to do with it?"

"That's how we got them the _first_ time, sir," said Klinger. "He called up a dame in Chicago, old acquaintance—"

" _Acquaintance_ ," Hawkeye echoed with a smirk.

"—of his, had her deliver the ribs to the airport."

"That's one heck of a favor," said B.J..

"Ah, that's Trapper for you," said Hawkeye, grinning in memory.

Inexplicably, B.J. felt something clench inside his chest.

"A finer cad I never knew!" Hawkeye continued grandly. "With a tongue of silver and lips of gold, he could sweet talk a girl into anything. He could sweet talk a nun into giving up her habit, if you know what I mean."

"He sure was something special, sir," said a smiling Radar.

Klinger nodded solemnly. "Aye, that he was."

Hawkeye raised his coffee mug. "To Trapper John, Captain of the McIntyre and king of our hearts!"

"Hear hear!" said Klinger, raising his mug.

Radar followed suit, with a, "To Cap'n McIntyre."

B.J. didn't feel in much of a toasting mood, but he knew his failure to join would raise some question marks. With a forced smile, he raised his mug. "To Trapper," he said.

The four friends shared a round of clinking mugs. Hawkeye, Radar, and Klinger chugged the coffee down like it was booze. None of them noticed that B.J.'s mug got no further than closed lips.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Howdy, folks. Time for chapter 2! Thanks so much for your support on the first chapter, it meant a lot to me :)_

 _Now, I hope you all will forgive me, but I'm going to take a moment to address an accusation made in one of the reviews. Feel free to skip right on over this if you want. I just feel compelled to say something on the matter since the accusation was made publicly and 1. I don't want this to potentially become a big deal, since I do believe it was just an honest, understandable mistake born of a couple of unfortunate coincidences and 2. On the more personal side of things, for all my flaws as a human being, honesty is the_ most _important thing to me. It is my core principle. Despite anything else I do, I never lie, cheat, or steal. So to have been accused of dishonesty on that level is very painful to me._

 _So as samanddianefan10, the author in question, requested, I have sent her a PM on the matter and am currently waiting to hear back. Hopefully the issue can be resolved quickly and easily between us. In the meantime, I'd like to tell you all the gist of what I told her:_

 _It is true that I read and followed samanddianefan10's story; however, in the past three months or so, I have honestly consumed such a large quantity of M*A*S*H fanfiction that I did not even recall hers when I went to look at it again. Also, as it happens, I started writing my story before I even read hers, but that's obviously not something I can prove to you all._

 _Point being, I did not in any way, shape, or form steal the concept of her story. My inspiration for this story came directly out the show itself. (Specifically-just in case anyone is interested :)-out of these facts: Firstly, that it always felt_ ridiculous and unbelievable _to me that Trapper was not talked about more often after his departure. I wanted to fix that. Secondly, that B.J. is shown_ in canon _to be a jealous man at times, a couple of times in regards to Peg, once towards Radar, and several times towards Trapper. Besides which, let's be real for a second, even_ without _that, this situation lends itself_ perfectly _to jealousy. Who in the M*A*S*H fandom_ hasn't _wanted to explore B.J.'s feelings of jealousy towards Trapper in more depth?)_

 _Anyways. I do agree that the similarity between the titles is an unfortunate coincidence, but I do maintain that it was only a coincidence. The cultural association between jealousy and the color green is very strong, and it frankly doesn't shock me that two people came up with (basically) the same pun (though actually I like her version better *shrug* Oh well). For my part, the title occurred to me while writing a scene-a scene in this chapter, in fact-wherein Hawkeye and B.J. discuss B.J.'s pink shirts and one of them uses the phrase "army green." I'm generally pretty horrible with titles, so when I wrote those words it was very much an "Aha! Perfect!" moment for me._

 _Well, that about covers it. I am genuinely sorry that samanddianefan10 was made to feel as though her work had been poached, but that is not the case, and I really hope that you all will give me the benefit of the doubt and believe what I've said. If anyone has further questions on this, please feel free to PM me. My inbox is always open._

 _Phew! Now that_ that's _over with, I hope you enjoy this second installment!_

* * *

Returning from a morning visit to the latrine, B.J. let the screen door swing shut behind him. Out of instinct, his eyes slid to the right, to the bed closest to the door.

Hawkeye didn't even look up, much less _greet_ his friend as he normally would. Eyes sparkling, big smile on his face, he seemed enraptured with the letter in his hands. A hastily torn envelope lay face up on the bed. Even from several feet away, B.J. felt certain he recognized the messy penmanship.

"Ah, Hunnicutt!"

B.J. turned to his other roommate, ignoring the way his hands had become fists. Charles smiled at him.

"You missed mail call, my dear chap. I believe there is a letter from home waiting on your bunk."

Turning to look, he saw that Charles was right. He stepped past Charles's bed to his own. "Why so chipper this morning? Didn't anybody tell you we're in Korea?"

"Good news from my sister Honoria." Charles brandished the letter in his hands, a big smile still on his face.

"Soon to be the owner of a brand new, wealthy brother-in-law, Charles?"

Charles chuckled his rare, easygoing laughter. "Jest _allll_ you like, Hunnicutt. Nothing you say can spoil this day for me."

"Oh? Well that sounds like a _challenge_ to me! Hawk, what do you think?"

He turned towards Hawkeye, a little more fervor in his gaze than perhaps was normal. His desperate grab for acknowledgment went unanswered. Hawkeye seemed not to have heard him. So wrapped up in his letter was he that he couldn't even be bothered to take the delicious bait dangling from Charles Emerson Winchester III's latest letter from home.

To make matters worse, upon B.J.'s failure to win the attention of his best friend, Charles shot him a pitying look. As if B.J. were some poor, snubbed schoolgirl whose crush wouldn't give her the time of day. It was all B.J. could do to keep from growling like a rabid beast.

"Gentlemen," said Charles, that same pitying look in his eyes when he glanced from Hawkeye back to B.J., before leaving the tent.

B.J. watched his friend for a moment longer. Then he ground his teeth together. Why was he behaving so childishly? After all, he had his _own_ letter from home, there was no reason to begrudge Hawkeye _his_.

He picked up the envelope on his bed. He read every letter and number on the envelope itself, taking comfort in Peg's delicate, feminine handwriting. So unlike Hawkeye's correspondent. Plopping down on his bunk, B.J. slid a finger beneath the lip of the envelope, ready to slice.

A burst of laughter stopped him.

Stomach tied in knots, he glanced up. Hawkeye was beaming down at his letter, eyes twinkling in that special way they did. The way that always caused B.J. a flurry of emotions he could never seem to put a name to.

Except, of course, when that twinkle was directed at a certain Trapper John. Then the flurry of emotions became a hurricane that shredded his insides. As much as B.J. hated himself for it, _this_ particular emotion was easy to name: jealousy.

The smile on Hawkeye's face softened, became something gentler, sweeter, and B.J.'s gut tightened even more. His fingers dug into his still unopened envelope.

"Love letter?" he said.

"Hmm?" Hawkeye's gaze didn't shift one inch as he took the necessary second to process B.J.'s question. "Oh. No, it's from Trapper."

"That's what I said, isn't it?" B.J. stood from the bed, shoving his mail unceremoniously into his pocket.

Hawkeye blinked. Looked up. "Come again?"

"Nothing." B.J. crossed to the tent door. Plastering a casual smile on his face, he asked, "Coming to breakfast?"

"Go on without me," Hawkeye said, waving a hand. He returned every ounce of his attention to the letter. "I'll catch up in a minute."

Without another word, B.J. pushed open the door. He stomped across the camp to the mess tent, the sound of Hawkeye's laughter chasing behind him.

* * *

"So what's with the pink shirts?"

B.J. looked up from his book. Well, not a book per say. A pamphlet. An instruction manual on motorcycle mechanics, to be specific. Reading material was scarce in Korea.

Hawkeye met his gaze nonchalantly from where he was seated on the edge of his bunk, nestled in his red robe. His skilled fingers continued to knit. The object between his needles had yet to take a shape, but its color was a deep maroon.

"What do you mean?" B.J. asked.

"One day out of the blue, all your greens turned pink," said Hawkeye. One needle dipped under the other. "No reason, no explanation. What gives?"

B.J. turned back to his pamphlet. "You said you didn't like green." There was a noticeable pause in the clicking of needles. "And red is too vibrant of a color to wear every day. Better for the little things."

"Like suspenders?" Hawkeye said, the sound of epiphany in his voice.

"Like suspenders," B.J. agreed. His eyes shifted to the next page of the pamphlet. The author had included a lovely illustration of an engine, how nice. "Pink is the way to go with shirts."

A creaking, followed by two thumps, and suddenly the bed was dipping. B.J. looked his fellow surgeon in the eyes and raised his eyebrows, as though to ask, _Do you have a permit to park there?_

Hawkeye ignored the look, leaning close to his friend. "You mean you changed your entire wardrobe because I said I was sick of army green?" he said intently, incredulously.

"Actually, it was because I thought the pink better suited my mustache."

Lips pursed, Hawkeye shook his head. A smile crinkled at the corners of his eyes. "You know what you are, B.J. Hunnicutt? Besides a terrible liar."

"Do I get twenty guesses?"

"You're a softie," said Hawk, grinning full and large. He dug a finger teasingly into B.J.'s chest, right over his heart. "A big ol', sentimental softie."

B.J. made a _tsk_ noise and shook his head. "Rats! And here I thought the war was going to keep me in shape." He made a show of returning to his reading.

The finger in his chest relaxed, became a hand. A hand that did not move away. A hand that, in fact, rested comfortably, tenderly, where it lay. B.J. cursed himself as he felt his heart race a little faster, and hoped to God that Hawkeye couldn't tell.

He looked up again just in time to see the utter sincerity in Hawk's eyes as he said, "Thanks, Beej."

"Ah, don't be silly, Hawk."

"No, I mean it," he said, leaning closer, trapping B.J. in his blue gaze. B.J. wished he wouldn't lean quite so close.

He wished he would lean closer.

"Thank you," Hawkeye said again. "You make this unbearable hellhole an unbearable purgatory-hole."

The hand slipped away, and B.J. could breathe again.

All at once everything was back to normal. Hawkeye was Hawkeye, and B.J. was B.J., and they were best friends who could talk and tease and touch without those actions begetting any more-complicated emotions.

B.J. smiled. He reached out and grasped Hawkeye's left shoulder. "Yeah, you too."

Hawkeye laid his own hand on top of B.J.'s and squeezed. After a moment they let go. Hawkeye returned to his bunk and his knitting, and B.J. continued his third-time-through perusal of the motorcycle maintenance manual. There was no trace of awkwardness between them after this moment of physical and emotional intimacy.

A fact for which B.J. was unendingly grateful. At times B.J. felt... confused, in regards to his feelings towards Hawkeye. A certain look or word from Hawkeye could set his mind reeling, his heart racing. Quite inexplicably. Bafflingly.

But those moments were few and far between. _This_ , the easy, comfortable, unassuming camaraderie between them was what B.J. treasured. Never in his life had he felt so at ease with another human being, so happy merely to be in their presence.

Oh, Peg was wonderful, of course. But she was wife first, friend second. Hawkeye was friend first and foremost, always. It was so easy to ignore the occasional odd thought or skipped heartbeat. Because, in comparison to _this_ , what did they matter?


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Hey, everybody! Thank you so much to everyone that has left a review. Can't tell you how happy they make me. My inspiration for this story is continuing to flow along at a pretty good pace, so I figured I'd go ahead and post the third chapter. Hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

"More suction."

The nurse responded at once. B.J. continued his work, hands not missing a beat. They'd started this latest session in the OR at 0800 hours. It was now 2200 hours.

In other words, a normal Tuesday in Korea.

"Nurse, towel."

A cloth dabbed at his forehead. He leaned down slightly to compensate for the height difference. His hands still did not falter.

"Finished over here," Colonel Potter said, raising his arms so a nearby nurse could divest him of his bloodied gown. "Klinger, bring me the next one!"

"Yes, sir!"

Doors swung open and shut, nurses hustled to and fro, surgeons' arms dug chest-deep into high school boys. B.J. was hungry, exhausted, and sweating, and though his focus was razor sharp on his work, the cost of that focus was no energy left over for anything else.

So how Hawkeye was managing to keep up a rousing rendition of "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" was beyond him.

"Is it too much to ask, Pierce," Charles called from the opposite end of the room, "that while our visual, olfactory, and tactile senses are all being assaulted by this unending assembly line of broken bodies, our auditory senses might be _spared_ from unnecessary torment?"

"What?" Hawkeye called back insincerely. "It's too loud in here, Charles, I can't hear you!" He continued to sing, even louder. " _There were angels dancing at the Ritz—_ B.J., jump in! _And a..._ "

"Not now, Hawk," said B.J., fingers flying faster as the chest in front of him reached critical.

"... _nightingale sang in Berkeley Square_. Beej, come on! Don't let me howl at the moon alone."

B.J.'s teeth clenched, and he threw aside a bloody sponge. "Not all of us have the energy of a four-year-old on a playground, Hawkeye."

Dead silence was never something that occurred in the OR, but the complete absence of extraneous noise was the closest it ever came. Which is what it reached in that moment. B.J. knew immediately that he'd put his big feet in his mouth. Seemed to be happening a lot lately. He might have felt a little bad about that, if he didn't have a patient edging towards death.

Unnatural quiet hung in the rusty air. B.J. kept up a near constant stream of orders to his nurse, sweating a little harder as he fought to keep the young boy alive.

Uncharacteristically businesslike, Hawk asked, "You need a hand?"

"I got it!" B.J. snapped, nerves wound too tight to make a more diplomatic reply. Hawkeye fell silent again, but B.J. swore he could feel the tickle of a laser-sharp stare on his back. He sweated even more.

After eight minutes of touch and go, he was finished. It wasn't pretty, but he'd done a good enough patchwork job. The kid would make it.

"All right," he said. He raised his arms and tilted his head back, letting out a breath. "All right. Give me the next poor bastard."

He took a breather while the litter was carried away. He was shedding his soiled gown and gloves when Hawkeye spoke.

"I don't think I'm on a playground," he said coolly. "I never think that."

Guilt roared up within B.J., but equally strong was rage. The two sides of himself warred. For several seconds, B.J. knew that if he opened his mouth he was as likely to start a screaming match as he was to apologize. So he kept his mouth shut, until he knew he could control himself.

Before he could make an answer, however, Hawkeye finished with his patient and called for another.

"These are the last two, everybody!" Klinger announced as he led in the final litters. Usually this pronouncement was met with tired cheers, but today all it got was a chorus of heavy exhalations. Even their relief could not melt away the tension in the room.

B.J. snapped on a fresh pair of gloves as the litter was placed on his table. The boy was young, though not as young as many that passed through their doors. Black hair, blue eyes. Dirt and stubble detracted from an otherwise clean-shaven, All-American boy look. All he had was a leg wound. Superficial, thank God.

"Got an open slot on your dance card, doctor?" the boy asked. A tired smile pulled at his lips, a smile that did not reach his eyes. There was tension in his neck muscles, and when his gaze flicked down to his bandaged leg, B.J. understood the real question he was asking. _Is my leg going to be okay?_

"For a handsome soldier like yourself?" B.J. said. "Always." _Don't you worry, I'll take care of you._

The boy swallowed. His eyes flickered wetly, but his smile grew stronger. "We haven't got any music," he pointed out. _I'm afraid._

"That's all right," B.J. told him. He took a deep breath. "My friend'll sing us a tune." _Don't be._ But also, _I'm sorry, Hawk_.

The boy nodded gently. The anesthesia mask settled over his nose and mouth, and soon he was unconscious.

"See that?" came Hawkeye's voice from behind him. He was quieter, gentler. _Apology accepted, you big lug_. "The wounded kid is jollier than you lot."

"Just keep it cool with those vocals, Pierce," said Colonel Potter.

"Oh, you all are no fun!" Quietly Hawkeye requested a clamp. "Now if _Trapper_ were here, _then_ I might get some decent harmony."

A tank barreled through B.J.'s chest. Only sheer force of will kept his hands from closing viselike around the instruments he held.

It wasn't the fact that Hawkeye was joking about Trapper that bothered him; it was the fact that, for the most part, Hawkeye _wasn't_ joking. There had been an unmistakable longing in Hawkeye's tone, an undeniably honest desire beyond the lighthearted façade.

"Then God be thanked that my imprisonment in this camp began _after_ his departure," said Charles.

"I'll pass that along," joked Father Mulcahy from the corner of the room.

Charles acknowledged him with an amused grunt, then said, "If Captain McIntyre was at all like yourself, Pierce—"

"At all like him?" Margaret cut in incredulously. She passed a sponge over into Colonel Potter's hands. "Ha! Captains Pierce and McIntyre were two peas in a military unfit pod."

B.J.'s jaw clenched.

"Stop it, Margaret, I'm blushing," came Hawkeye's smug reply. Margaret rolled her eyes and glared at him over her mask.

"That's true!" Klinger said candidly, piggybacking off of Margaret's statement. "Same jokes, same schemes and _every_ thing. Practically like twins."

B.J. bit his tongue, resisting the urge to throw his scalpel violently at the tray.

"Except Trapper was the handsomer of the two, of course," said Margaret, her sharp, mischievous gaze locked on the doctor two tables down.

B.J. couldn't see the look on Hawkeye's face, but he could picture its exaggerated indignation with more clarity than he wished to admit.

Sure enough, Hawkeye said, "Margaret, you shock me!" Despite his words, he sounded exceedingly excited by Margaret's teasing, as that side of her personality was often kept out of the OR. "How could you utter such a blasphemous lie in front of a priest?"

"Actually, Hawkeye," said Father Mulcahy. At the Father's tone of voice, B.J. couldn't resist a glance up and to the side. Father Mulcahy's blue eyes were a-twinkle. "I would have to side with the Major on this one. Trapper _did_ have a certain something about him."

"Et tu, padre?"

"Well," said Colonel Potter, "all I can say is, while I'm sorry never to have met the fella, as a CO I'm a little glad of it. I've got enough trouble keeping _one_ Hawkeye Pierce in check; _two_ would've been more than this old codger could handle!"

Finally B.J.'s nerves began to unravel. The work on the raven-haired boy's leg was practically routine, and the familiar banter of his colleagues was putting him back at ease. He breathed more deeply, muscles loosening, relaxing.

"Two Pierces, perish the thought," said Charles. Then, seeming to truly consider the thought, his whole body shuddered. "Eugh."

Lightly, B.J. asked, "Am I to understand that I haven't been giving you enough trouble, Colonel?"

"Ahhh," said Hawkeye, a big grin in his voice, "now _there's_ the B.J. Hunnicutt I know and love!"

B.J. was suddenly glad that Hawkeye stood behind him, as he was fairly sure his red cheeks were visible even through his mask.

Two-thirds of an hour later, Hawkeye and B.J. left the OR together, trailing Potter and Winchester by a good fifteen minutes. They walked slowly, shoulders bumping against each other. More than fourteen hours spent standing, bent over bleeding bodies, had left both men with full-body aches.

They collapsed together onto the bench. B.J. immediately slumped to the left, resting his head on Hawkeye's shoulder. Eyes closed, he murmured, "I'm sorry I snapped at you. Just the exhaustion. You know?"

Hawkeye sighed. Shifting his arm, he placed a hand on top of B.J.'s head and began to stroke his hair. B.J. released the breath that had been knotted beneath his breast, going limp. He nuzzled against his friend.

"I know, Beej. I know."

"Merry-go-round from _Hell_ ," B.J. growled. Tears welled up in his eyes. "I just want to get off the ride and go home, but they won't let me. They won't let me see my little girl. Just around and around and around and around..."

Hawkeye didn't say anything, only carded his fingers through B.J.'s hair.

They stayed in that position for several minutes, until the tears in B.J.'s eyes were no more than memories. Then—and only because the promise of beds awaited them—they both stood and divested themselves of their scrubs. When they were all washed up, they left the OR side by side.

Klinger was on watch duty. Rifle poised at his side, he gave the two captains a salute as they passed. Hawkeye and B.J. mimicked the gesture.

"Chiffon suits you," Hawkeye complimented tiredly.

Klinger beamed, running a gloved hand down his yellow garment. "I was thinking of you when I bought it, sir."

B.J. was so tired that all he managed was a chuckle of appreciation at the exchange.

But just when they reached the Swamp, Hawkeye put a hand on B.J.'s arm, stopping him before he opened the door. There was a haunted, contemplative look in his eyes that hadn't been there only minutes prior.

"What is it, Hawk?" B.J. asked.

Hawkeye didn't release his arm. He looked around them. Whether to assure himself of their privacy or for some other reason, B.J. didn't know. He swallowed. Then, quietly, "Beej, I'm scared."

"We're all scared," B.J. said, not patronizing, but matter-of-fact.

Hawkeye shook his head. "No, that's not what I'm talking about. I don't mean the bombs and the shelling and the death waiting around every corner. Sure, I'm scared of those too, but I'm scared of—" His mouth snapped shut.

"What?"

Blue eyes darted back and forth, grew darker. "Nevermind," he said, looking far older than his age. "It's stupid, forget it. Let's hit the sack." His boots scuffed against the dusty ground.

This time it was B.J. who grabbed his friend's arm before he could enter the tent. "Hawkeye, tell me."

Hawkeye grew tense, but his fingers let go of the door. His eyes flashed to B.J.'s, looking for... What? B.J. wasn't sure.

"Do you ever wonder if..." He stopped and gave an aggravated huff. There was fire in his countenance as he quickly said, "I mean, this place is Hell, no question! I'd give anything to get out of here."

After a moment, B.J. said, "But?"

Hawkeye licked his lips. Glanced away. Then, "I've had some of the best times of my life in this camp," he said finally. "Under the worst conditions imaginable, I've found friends, family, a place I can call _home_. I'm... I'm scared of waking up one day in Crabapple Cove and..." He closed his mouth and shook his head, as though disbelieving the very words he spoke, unwilling to utter another.

"Missing it?" B.J. finished for him.

"Not the war!" was Hawkeye's fervent reply. "Never the war. But... I don't want to lose _every_ thing I have here. Does that make me crazy? Shouldn't I want to forget everything possible about this hell-scape?"

"Hawk." B.J. stepped closer, until they were so near that Hawkeye couldn't avoid meeting his gaze. Hawkeye's blue eyes screamed of insecurity, begging for reassurance, for understanding.

God, what he would give to permanently erase that look from his friend's eyes. To make sure that Hawkeye knew he would _always_ have B.J.'s complete acceptance.

"It doesn't make you crazy," he said. "And it doesn't make you a bad person. It makes you human. Why do you think I went to all those crazy lengths to arrange a preemptive reunion back home? Korea is Hell, sure, and I want to get out of here just as much as anybody, _more_ , but I've made some real human connections here. I don't wanna lose those. And I don't _plan_ to. I don't care how much effort it takes to coordinate schedules, I'm going to make damn sure there's a MASH four-oh-seven-seven reunion every year."

Hawkeye's eyes flicked back and forth between B.J.'s. "Yeah?"

B.J. nodded. "Yeah."

Hawkeye released a deep sigh. He fell forward, until his forehead rested on B.J.'s shoulder. B.J.'s arms instinctually came up to encircle his friend in a warm embrace. The bed waiting for him in the Swamp suddenly seemed much less important.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Hey, everybody! I just wanted to give a big thank you to all my reviewers. I can't tell you how much they buoy my spirits, truly. Hope you enjoy this chapter! Consider it the calm before the storm (*ominous music plays*) ;)_

* * *

The sight that met B.J. when he entered the Swamp was so unexpected that he stopped in his tracks, half-in half-out.

Hawkeye was seated on his bunk, olive-adorned martini in hand. This in itself was not unusual. What _was_ unusual was the object that Hawkeye appeared to be toasting. Namely: toast. A piece of charred toast with a burning candle stuck into its center. Hawkeye had yet to notice his friend's entry.

A ready quip leapt to B.J.'s tongue.

Before he could utter it, Hawkeye lifted the glass higher. "Happy birthday, Trapper," he said. The martini vanished in one gulp.

B.J. sealed his mouth shut. A sour taste had taken the place of his intended smartass remark. Without making a conscious decision, he turned and walked out, deriving satisfaction from the firm _snap_ of the screen door behind him.

He didn't notice the pair of surprised blue eyes that fixated on him a second before the door slammed shut.

* * *

"Margaret, _Margaret_!"

A grinning Hawkeye ignored the open bench space to the left of B.J. and instead shoved himself into the tight, practically nonexistent wedge between B.J. and Major Houlihan.

B.J. didn't bother to scoot down. It was only sensible, really. The days were cold as of late, everyone bundled up in the warmest, bulkiest, most well-insulated clothes they owned—B.J. wore, among other things, a maroon scarf—so really it made sense to sit as tightly together as possible. Heat conservation and all that.

"You've gotta hear this," Hawkeye continued excitedly.

Hands wrapped around a steaming hot coffee mug, B.J. glanced to the side and noticed for the first time that Hawkeye was waving a letter about.

"From Trapper," he prefaced.

B.J. felt the now all-too-familiar tightening in his gut, curling tighter and tighter, like a crank being wound.

"What is it, Pierce?" Margaret asked, a reprimand and a sigh in her voice all at once. She took another bite of her lunch.

Undeterred, Hawkeye put up a hand and waved it. "Just listen, listen." In a slightly affected voice, he read from the letter. " _Here's something I know you'll get a kick out of. Guess who showed up at my door last week, as ferrety-faced as ever?_ "

Two heads snapped towards the Chief Surgeon. B.J. saw his own shock reflected back on Margaret's face.

"No," she said, dumbfounded. "Not—"

Hawkeye grinned at his two friends, waggling his eyebrows. " _That's right, Hawk,_ " he went on, enunciating exaggeratedly, _"I've got the_ immense _pleasure of playing hostess to none other than Frank Burns_."

"But _why_?" Margaret cried.

Still reading from the letter, Hawkeye answered, " _Apparently Frank's wife finally wised up and sued him for a divorce. Must've got a damn good lawyer too, cause Frank lost the thirty-five thousand dollar house. He says he didn't know where else to go so he came here, and in what was obviously a fit of temporary insanity, I let him stay._ " Hawkeye turned aside to Margaret. "Trapper always _was_ more of a pushover when it came to Frank."

Margaret's lips pursed, but there was amusement in her eyes. "You would've done the same," she said.

Hawkeye gaped. " _Me_? Open my door, much less offer my _couch_ , to Major Ferret Face?"

"Oh, you would," she said, smiling tenderly. Then she smirked. "Once you'd finished laughing, of course."

Despite himself, Hawkeye returned her smile. Then, as though to duck away from anything potentially emotional, he swung his gaze away, bringing B.J. back into the conversation.

"Can you believe that?" he exclaimed. "After all Frank's whining about sharing the Swamp with Trapper and me, he has the _nerve_ to ask _Trapper_ of all people for a place to stay! When I'd give _anything_ to be living with Trapper again! Now tell me, is that fair?"

B.J. shrugged, struggling not to make the gesture too sharp. "I sure don't envy McIntyre"—the unintended irony of that statement caused a twitch in his already-aching gut—"but you gotta admit, Hawk, if Frank's begging a couch from someone he doesn't even _like_? Probably hasn't got a lot of friends. Maybe you should try for a little sympathy," he said, perhaps more harshly than was warranted.

A flash of hurt crossed Hawkeye's face at the rebuke, and B.J. immediately felt sorry. He swallowed, intending to apologize, but his mouth remained dry.

Quickly recovering himself, Hawkeye forced a lighthearted grin onto his face. "Well, here, listen," he declared to them both. "You haven't even heard the best bit yet!" He cleared his throat. " _Louise is handling it all very well. Actually, I think she gets a kick out of the way Frank flinches every time I say her name._ "

B.J. couldn't help a snort at that, despite the guilt still souring his stomach. Couldn't be easy to move in with someone whose wife had the same name as your recently _ex_ -wife. He grinned down into his coffee as Hawkeye went on.

" _But even better than that. After I explained to the girls what was going on, you know what my Becky did? Walked straight up to Frank and told him, 'You can sleep with Molly tonight.' That's her sock monkey. 'She's a monkey, but you can pretend she's a ferret if you want.'_ "

B.J. choked on his coffee and began to cough, at the same moment that Margaret leaned away from the table, her head thrown back in exuberant, uncontrollable laughter.

Hawkeye grinned at both his friends and, fighting against his own laughter, went on. " _I thought it wasn't possible to love my little girl any more than I already did, but boy was I wrong._ "

All of a sudden, the letter didn't seem so funny anymore. Nothing did. Envy of a kind far stronger than his usual jealousy burned through B.J. like a forest fire.

Because where was _B.J._ while Captain John McIntyre was busy making memories with his daughters? Still in goddamned Korea. Separated from _his_ little girl by a goddamn ocean! It wasn't fair that Trapper got to fall more in love with his daughters every day, with every cute thing they said, every laugh, every smile, when _B.J._ hardly knew whether Erin would recognize him if she saw him tomorrow. It wasn't _fair_.

His hands gripped the coffee mug so tightly that he was vaguely surprised it didn't shatter.

" _She didn't mean anything by it, of course_ ," Hawk was saying." _She's heard me call him Ferret Face and must have thought it just meant that he liked ferrets. Still, I laughed so hard Louise was afraid I'd bust a rib._ "

B.J. threw back the last remaining dregs of coffee—otherwise known as 'lighter fluid'—and stood abruptly. "I'm due in post-op," he said. "Catch up with you later, Hawk."

"Oh. Yeah yeah, sure, Beej," said Hawkeye, undoubtedly surprised given that, as they all knew perfectly well, B.J. had a good fifteen minutes before his shift began. B.J. ignored the eyes he could feel on his back as he stepped over the bench.

As B.J. headed for the door, Hawkeye started reading to Margaret again.

" _But you wanna hear something even crazier, Hawk? Despite all that, I think my daughters have actually both grown_ fond _of Frank. I'm gonna have to be careful or they'll adopt him as the..._ "

B.J. exited the mess tent. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he made for post-op. Hopefully Charles was interested in leaving his shift a little early today.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Strap in for a bumpy ride, folks. I'll try to keep things light-hearted and comedic at times, in true M*A*S*H fashion, but there's definitely some unavoidable drama ahead. Thanks for all your reviews and messages. It has meant a lot to me to hear from each of you! Thanks for welcoming me into the M*A*S*H fandom and supporting my little venture here._

* * *

As much as B.J. appreciated the god-awful gin produced by their homemade still, it was nice on occasion to partake of the slightly _less_ god-awful gin at the Officers' Club. Particularly after two straight days in the OR. They were due for a little unwinding, if he did say so himself.

He leaned back in his chair and took a sip from his martini. Hawkeye sat across from him at the small table, nursing his drink and drinking in the nurses.

"Think Potter'll ever give us those days in Tokyo we requested?" B.J. asked, for the sake of conversation.

Hawk made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. "Not until we get General MacArthur to sign our parental permission slips."

B.J. sighed. "I knew it was a bad idea to sign those adoption papers they handed me along with my draft notice," he said straight-faced.

"Well, you know how these military fathers are," said Hawkeye. His eyes were tracking a pretty blonde to the bar. "Too busy keeping the peace by making war to be around when you need their John Hancock."

B.J. went stiff as a board. Hawkeye, one of the most compassionate human beings B.J. had ever known, and at times also one of the most thoughtless, didn't realize his verbal blunder until he finally looked around and saw his friend's frozen body. First his brow crinkled as his mind replayed his last remark, searching for the offense given. Then, eyes widening with true horror, he said, "Oh god, Beej, I—"

"Forget it," B.J. said, jaw tight. He set his glass down on the table, staring hard at the dirty wood, fingernails scraping along the surface.

"No, really," Hawkeye insisted. He leaned across the table, his fingers clutching at B.J.'s coat sleeve, though he did not seem aware that they were. "I'm sorry. I didn't... You know how it is, there's a faulty connection somewhere between my brain and my mouth. Sometimes I, I say things that—"

B.J. interrupted him again, this time looking his friend in the eye. "It's fine, Hawk, really," he said. He meant it, too. He wasn't upset with Hawkeye. Why should he be? For a careless joke? No. B.J. was upset all right. But at the war, the draft, at everything separating him from his little girl. Not at the one man who was making the separation bearable. He smiled for Hawkeye's sake, to reassure him. For extra measure, he put his hand on top of the fingers squeezing his jacket to death. "It's okay."

The older man released a heavy breath, practically sagging with relief. He smiled back at B.J., his eyes glimmering in a way that said, _I don't know what I ever did to deserve you, but boy am I glad I've got you._ The undisguised adoration in that gaze was too much for B.J.; he was forced to look back down at the table.

The two friends relaxed again, sipping at their drinks. All around them members of the 4077th drank and danced and flirted, and it was all as pleasant and peaceful as Korea knew how to be. It was a rare moment of true comfort. B.J. soaked it in as best he could, knowing only too well how brief such moments could be.

This one was fated to be _particularly_ short-lived. For only a second later, the jukebox faded out as one song turned to another. After a short scratching noise, a mid-tempo jazzy tune filled the club.

Hawkeye perked up, a slow and delicate smile stretching across his lips. "Ahhh," he said. There was a faraway look in his eyes as he leaned his head back.

"What?" B.J. asked, unable not to smile as well.

"It's our song," Hawkeye declared.

B.J. felt an irrational rush of warmth. Nevertheless, he replied, with utter nonchalance, "I didn't know we _had_ a song."

"My and _Trapper's_ song," Hawkeye clarified. Unaware he'd just sucker-punched his best friend, he went on.

"When this album first arrived in camp, the nurses and the corpsmen played this song on repeat for _days_ ," he explained. "It was endless! Not that we minded, mind you. What sort of Neanderthal doesn't appreciate Frank Sinatra's sultry, dulcet tones? So anyways, after one lengthy session in the OR, Trapper and I came in here for a few drinks and, long story short, we ended up slow-dancing to this song for hours."

He grinned. "Much to Frank's very vocal disapproval, of course. Ah, yes. It was the _perfect_ evening!" he finished, tossing his head flamboyantly.

B.J. didn't even bother chugging the remainder of his drink. He merely slid the glass away and stood.

It was strange really. He had thought that his jealousy towards Trapper would lessen over time; or, at the very least, that he would learn to handle it better. But as it turned out, just the opposite was true. Each time Trapper was mentioned, he felt more and more sick to his stomach, more and more angry to his core.

At heart B.J. was a peaceful man. But his primal instincts had a regrettably violent tint, and he felt quite certain that if he did not leave _now_ , some poor drunk corpsman would soon end up on the wrong side of his fist.

"You know," he said, "I'm pretty beat. Think I'll turn in. Save some gin for the rest of the war, all right?"

He turned away. There was the loud scrape of a chair being pushed back.

"Beej, wait!"

A hand clamped around his arm. Frank Sinatra's smooth voice joined the instrumentals, singing, _I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places..._ B.J. stopped, turned. There was a smidgen of panic in his friend's eyes.

"You can't leave, it's still early!" Hawkeye said, his tone striving for jovial. It fell short of the mark. "The sun's not even up yet! Come on, stay, have another drink with me."

"Some other time," said B.J.

Again he turned to go. But not only did Hawkeye fail to relinquish his grip, he actually held tighter. The worry in his eyes turned hard, a stubbornness that B.J. was well-acquainted with. He steeled himself and waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Why are you avoiding me?" Hawkeye asked. Accused.

"What do you mean?" B.J. immediately said. "I'm not—"

"Don't," said Hawkeye, shaking his head. The chatter of the club lessened to a quiet hum. Nearly everyone had fallen silent, watching the unexpected confrontation between the notoriously inseparable duo. Frank Sinatra declared that _I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day_. "Don't treat me like I'm a child. You've been avoiding me. What, you think I haven't noticed the way that you, you leave the Swamp when I'm there too? Or skip out on breakfast early? Say you're too tired to go to Rosie's with me after your shift?"

"I _am_ tired, Hawk," B.J. snapped. "There's this little thing called the _war_ on, maybe you've heard of it? You'll have to forgive me if I haven't always got the energy left over to indulge every single one of your whims."

"Huh uh. I don't believe you. This is something else, this is _new_."

"Maybe I just need a break, all right?"

"That's what we _all_ need," Hawkeye exclaimed disbelievingly. "That's why we drink! And play cards! And make merry! To get a break from the war!"

"Not from the war," said B.J. "From you."

He pretended not to hear the chorus of feminine gasps that followed this. But even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't pretend not to see the stunned hurt in Hawk's eyes.

Hawkeye's long fingers uncurled and released B.J.'s coat, hand falling limply at his side. He stared at B.J., mouth slightly agape, eyes shimmering wetly. For perhaps the first time since B.J. had met him, Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce was speechless.

Hardening his heart towards the man— _It was his own damn fault for pushing too hard, for talking about Trapper too often, for never taking B.J.'s feelings into consideration_ —he turned on his heel and slammed out the door of the Officers' Club, leaving a roomful of shocked observers behind him.

Inside the club, the final notes of 'I'll Be Seeing You' faded out. They were immediately replaced with another Frank Sinatra number.

 _Must be a real Sinatra fan in the crowd tonight_ , Hawkeye thought numbly. Still staring towards the door, he felt his chest constrict.

 _Be careful_ , Sinatra sang, _it's my heart..._

"No, Beej," Hawkeye said quietly, too quietly to be overheard in the sudden outbreak of loud whispers. " _This_ is _our_ song."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Hello hello! I know it hasn't been long since the last chapter, but I'm still chugging this story out at a pretty good pace, so I thought I'd go ahead and post now. This chapter is dedicated to the anon who begged me to update and not leave off with the last chapter :D Your review made me very happy._ _So, my lovely anon, I hope_ _you enjoy!_

* * *

Tension at the 4077th was so thick in the following days that visitors might have thought there was an unexploded bomb lodged somewhere in the middle of camp. B.J. and Hawkeye were doing a marvelous job of avoiding one another, only sharing any sort of proximity when they went to sleep at night. Beyond their shared quarters, they had virtually no contact whatsoever.

Hawkeye, for his part, felt he was owed an apology, a damn _large_ apology at that, and refused to break their stalemate until he received it. No matter _how_ often his eyes were drawn to the sandy-haired man, complete with a stab of painful longing.

B.J., on the other hand, had absolutely no intention of apologizing. He'd done nothing wrong! In fact, he was beginning to feel rather like the abused party in all of this. Hawkeye had no _idea_ how much it hurt to be consistently reminded that you were #2, that someone else had come before, that someone else had been _better_.

Only now was B.J. beginning to comprehend the true depths of his jealousy. His insecurity. He couldn't help but scrutinize every single moment since his arrival at Kimpo, and what he discovered was not to his liking at all.

Had any of it been real? Had Hawkeye ever _truly_ cared about _B.J._? Or was B.J. merely the... the convenient replacement for Hawkeye's _real_ best friend? Through green-colored glasses, it was impossible to tell. B.J. just didn't know anymore.

That fact cut him more deeply than all his previous jealousies combined.

B.J. determinedly ignored the voice inside his head saying that even if Hawkeye's feelings of friendship _had_ been genuine, it wasn't enough, it wasn't enough, it wasn't enough...

* * *

When Hawkeye woke in the middle of the night, he was seized by the certainty that something wasn't right. In one of the very few ways the war had succeeded in making him a military man, he was wide awake in a split second.

He sat straight up on his bunk. Heart pounding like he'd gulped a shot of adrenaline, he looked around. Was it choppers? Wounded? Something worse?

Nothing. No alarm bells. No Radar yelling about casualties in the compound. Just crickets chirping outside the tent. Charles snuffling and turning over in his sleep. B.J.—

B.J. wasn't in his bunk. That must've been what triggered him awake. Hawkeye relaxed. No doubt B.J. was just in the latrine, due back any minute.

A minute passed, and he grew ancy.

Two minutes passed, and he was downright fidgety.

Three minutes passed, and he threw back his ratty blanket. Standing, he shoved his feet into army regulation boots and pulled on his robe, before exiting the tent as quietly as possible. He headed towards the latrine.

When the man on watch—a corpsman Hawkeye wasn't familiar with—stopped him, he gave the password and was allowed to continue on. He almost asked the man whether he'd seen B.J., but he didn't want to let his paranoia show. Undoubtedly he'd find his friend in the toilet, and then wouldn't he feel foolish for all this worrying!

Hawkeye knocked quietly on the wooden door. There was no answer.

"Beej?" he whispered. Still nothing. Anxiety climbing, Hawkeye opened the door and looked in.

Empty.

Hawkeye let his gaze wander over the camp. His heart was beating uncomfortably hard in his chest. Where could B.J. be? Where would he have gone, and _why_?

First he checked post-op, but all was quiet inside, no doctors to speak of. Next he checked the mess tent and the kitchens, but B.J. wasn't fetching himself a midnight snack. Then, pleading _Please please please please please_ inside his head, he went back to the Swamp, hoping his friend had returned while he'd been running about like a chicken with its head cut off.

No such luck.

Hawkeye suddenly felt as though he'd ducked inside a cave. He couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in on him, the air draining away. Gasping, he hurled himself through the Swamp door. Being outside helped him to breathe easier, air coming in ragged bursts, but fear still had his heart dancing a tarantella.

Eyes flashing wildly about, Hawkeye circled the surgeons' tent until he spotted the man on guard.

"Hey!" Hawkeye shouted. The man jumped, and kept big eyes on Hawkeye as he ran up. "You, Private. Have you seen Dr. Hunnicutt?"

The man's mouth fell open, and he shook his head. "I... I'm sorry, sir," he said. "I'm new here, I don't hardly know one face from—"

"Hunnicutt," repeated Hawkeye fervently. "Dr. B.J. Hunnicutt. Over six feet tall, sandy hair, mustache, _have you seen him_? It would have been sometime in the past few hours."

"I don't... I don't know, sir," said the man, against whom Hawkeye was seriously considering filing a formal complaint. What in the hell kind of guard couldn't remember if he'd seen a man matching B.J.'s description? "Don't think so. Must've slipped by me. I can't be everywhere in camp all at once, you know—"

"I know, I know," snapped Hawkeye, far past the end of his rope. "Well, all right, let's... let's just think about this," he said. He ignored the man's look of utter bewilderment. He'd figure out soon enough that Hawkeye wasn't _actually_ seeking his help, but rather using him as a sounding board, a pair of ears for Hawkeye's musings. "If he went somewhere and you didn't see him go, he was probably avoiding you on purpose. So he wanted to be alone. Not to be bothered. Where would he go for that, where would he—?"

A thought occurred to him. A place where one could usually find privacy, where, in fact, Hawkeye had taken a date once or twice when the weather had been nice enough for a picnic. And where Hawkeye could recall B.J. slipping away to on occasion—always during the _day_ time—in moments when he needed a breath of solitude.

Without a word, Hawkeye spun on his heel and sprinted away. If this hunch didn't pan out, his next step was going to be calling in the whole damn cavalry. Whatever it took to find his friend.

* * *

B.J. was standing utterly still when Hawkeye jogged up behind him. He didn't seem to be doing anything beyond staring at the mountains of Korea. The sound of approaching feet did nothing to distract him from the view.

"Really, Beej?" said Hawkeye. It only vexed him more that B.J. didn't bother to look at him, didn't _acknowledge_ him. "Taking a midnight stroll by a _minefield_? What the hell were you thinking?"

"Wanted to get a little fresh air," B.J. said, still staring straight ahead. Hawkeye felt rage begin to spiral in his gut. "Is that a crime?"

"Only against my livelihood and wellbeing," he said lightly, but bitterly. "You're supposed to stay in your _bed_ during the night. That's what the GI roaming the camp with a rifle means. Otherwise your roomies might wake up and have themselves a heart attack when they see your bed empty! What if you'd been captured by the North Koreans? What if you'd walked into a land mine?"

"Why should you care?" came the cold reply.

For the second time that week, Hawkeye was legitimately struck dumb by the words coming from his friend's mouth. He gaped at the younger man.

"Beej, what the hell are you talking about?" he managed to get out. "You are my single tether to reality. You know that, don't you? If anything happened to you, I would go out of what's left of my mind!"

"At least then you'd get sent home," said B.J. His gaze shifted towards a different mountain far in the distance. "Be better than staying here. You could see your father again, and Trapper."

Hawk narrowed his eyes. It was difficult to tell in the darkness, but he could have sworn he'd seen B.J.'s lip curl on that last remark. He snarked, "I find that teary reunions lose their charm when one of the reunionees is wrapped in a straight jacket."

B.J. whirled around, finally meeting Hawk's gaze. His blue eyes burned like they were on fire. "Stop it!" he said, pointing a finger at Hawkeye's chest. "Just stop it! You don't get to put that burden on me. You survived fine before I got here, and you'd survive fine if I left."

Hawkeye started to shake his head. "You're _wrong_ —"

"It's not my fault that Trapper left you the way he did!" B.J. shouted.

The tally raised itself to three. Hawkeye stared at his friend open-mouthed. "I didn't—"

"And I'm not him, got it?" said B.J., as though Hawkeye had said nothing. Each word was full of raw anger.

Hawkeye shut up. He had a feeling that he was finally scratching the surface of what had been bothering his friend all along.

"It's not my responsibility to hold together the pieces of you that he left behind," B.J. continued. "You can't put that on me. I'm my own man. Doctor B.J. Hunnicutt. Not a serial number. Not GI Joe. And damn well not Trapper John McIntyre!"

"Is _that_ what's been eating you?" Hawkeye said. "You think that I expect you to _be_ Trapper just because you got here the same day he left? Because I _don't_."

Expression like flint, B.J. shook his head. "You latched onto me the minute I got here, and you would've done the same no matter _who_ walked off that plane."

" _I_ latched onto _you_ , are you _kidding_?" Hawkeye exclaimed, his own righteous anger flaring back into life. "You started batting those baby blues at me from our first _hand_ shake, practically begging, 'Hawkeye-san, take me under your wing!'"

"So you admit this was never a friendship based on equal terms."

Eyebrows raised in two peaks, Hawkeye threw up his hands and turned in a half-circle, as though inviting the crickets to join in his disbelief.

"Beej, do you hear yourself?" he cried. He gestured exaggeratedly towards B.J.'s face. "Hear those words spouting from your mouth? They're called _loony bin crazy_! We met, we liked each other, we became friends. I do not now, nor have I _ever_ , considered you a stand-in for Trapper."

But B.J. was biting his tongue and smiling a frosty, insincere smile. "Better tie a couple of sandbags around your ankle, Hawk. You're full of so much hot air you're liable to float away."

Hawkeye's jaw twitched. His voice grew quieter, deeper. "I know you can be a jealous man, B.J., but stop treating me like I'm your wife! For that matter, you shouldn't treat your _wife_ this way, but at least she made the _choice_ to live with you. I don't have the luxury of kicking you to the couch for the night if you piss me off."

"I'll try not to disturb your beauty sleep," B.J. mocked.

"Oh, well _thank_ you, Captain Chivalrous," Hawkeye shot back with a sarcastic smile. The two friends glared at each other.

A pacifist nearly to his core, Hawkeye felt no desire to start a brawl. There were, however, a number of choice things—cruel, hurtful, 'leave-a-mark-forever' things—that he could say, that he _wanted_ to say, in that moment. But the sliver of sense left in his anger-soaked brain knew that the moment would soon pass, and he would regret having said them.

So instead he pivoted on his heel and walked away, leaving B.J. alone by the minefield. Let him stupidly risk his own life if he wanted. Hawkeye was going to bed.

But not his own bed. Because his own bed happened to be located in a little tent called the Swamp, where B.J. Hunnicutt's bed was _also_ located. The mere thought of which made him angry all over again. So he grabbed his mattress and stomped back out, ignoring the muffled, "Wha? Wha?" of a waking Charles.

When he reached his destination, he knocked twice. This didn't garner a response so he knocked twice again, louder.

"Yes, all right, I'm coming," said a groggy voice from within. "One moment."

Hawkeye waited, his pulse still racing, throbbing with fury beneath his skin. A light flicked on. Then a latch was being undone, the door pushed open towards him.

He barely glanced at the sleep-bedraggled Major before shoving past her into the tent, mattress dragging behind him.

"Captain Pierce!" Margaret exclaimed, scandalized. Her hands tugged at the neckline of her robe, as if either one of them honestly cared about the tiny patch of skin visible there. "What do you think you're—"

"I'm sleeping here tonight," he said. He smiled at her, no actual amusement in the expression. "Don't worry, I'm potty-trained."

"Absolutely not! Get out!"

Hawkeye's teeth clamped together. He locked his gaze on hers. "Margaret, I swear on my father's life I won't touch you," he said, making certain she could not mistake how serious he was. "I am _not_ sleeping in the Swamp tonight."

"And why aren't you?"

"Because if I _do_ , this unit will soon be short one back-stabbing, skunk-faced surgeon! I've already got enough blood on my hands. I don't need more."

Her obstinate glare faded into a very Margaret-like mix of concern and exasperation.

"Oh, Pierce. Hasn't this gone on long enough?" she asked. "He's your best friend."

"Try telling _him_ that!" he snapped. Then he sighed, and looked down at the floor. Margaret had done nothing to earn his vitriol. He suddenly felt so, so tired.

"Look..." He met her gaze as honestly as he could. "I just need someplace to sleep, not a lecture, okay? I can't... I can't take it right now. Please, Margaret. I'm asking as a friend."

She swallowed. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "All right." She gestured with her chin. "You can set up there."

He gave his first real smile in hours, perhaps days. "Thank you."

It wasn't until the light was off and they had both laid down on their respective pallets that Margaret spoke again.

"Hawkeye?"

Her voice disturbed the otherwise peaceful darkness around them, but somehow Hawkeye found it comforting.

"Yeah?"

"This place does things to all of us," she said. "He'll come around."

He smiled, and when he blinked there were tears in his eyes.

"You're a good friend, Margaret."


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing, everybody!_

* * *

When B.J. woke the next morning, he was cranky. Between his nighttime walk and the tossing and turning that followed (upon discovering a Hawk-less Swamp when he returned; no doubt the Casanova had shacked up with a nurse for the night, solely to spite him), he had gotten barely any sleep. He slept in a little later than usual, but not nearly late enough to make up for the lack of rest.

War drums thundering inside his skull, B.J. strode into the mess tent.

His already sour mood turned positively acidic.

At the very first table on his right sat Hawkeye... and Margaret. Eating together, talking together. _Laughing_ together. Or, more accurately, Margaret was smiling and Hawkeye was laughing at something she'd said. Looking for all the world like the best of pals.

B.J. didn't realize he had any intention of speaking until the words were already out of his mouth.

"Well, doesn't this make a pretty picture," he said.

Laughter instantly dying away, Hawkeye turned up towards him. B.J. had a feeling Margaret was staring at him too, as well as a good many other people, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from Hawkeye.

"I see it didn't take you long to cast your latest Trapper understudy," he said. Now he did turn his gaze away from Hawkeye, and to the woman beside him. "Be careful, Margaret. You're only a few breakfasts away from inheriting full responsibility for his emotional wellbeing."

Hawkeye slammed his tray down with a violent clatter. "All right, _that's_ it!"

The movement was so abrupt that it gave B.J. an honest-to-god shock to his system. The bitterness clouding his judgment began to dissipate. He could do nothing but stare as the other man stood up, glaring at him.

Already regret was coursing through his veins. And fear. Not fear of physical pain—the sort of fear that comes when one has just made a potentially life-destroying, and irreversible, decision. His mouth turned arid.

Hawkeye came out from behind the table and stomped up close to him, until their faces were only inches apart. B.J. tightened his jaw to stop himself from swallowing.

"I don't know what pills you've been taking, Dr. Jekyll," Hawkeye said fervidly, "but the B.J. Hunnicutt _I_ know would be _happy_ that Margaret and I are able to be friends despite all the history between us. Now, I don't know who _you_ are, but you make me sick."

He stormed past the taller man. Halfway between B.J. and the door, he whirled around.

"No, you know what?" he declared. A face usually full of joy and mischief was now deadly serious. Lined and aged. World-weary.

B.J.'s innards gave a twist. It pained him to know that he was the one responsible for putting that look on the other man's face.

"Maybe you were right," Hawk said. "Maybe _this_ is the real B.J. Hunnicutt and the one I met at the airfield was just a figment of my imagination. I should've gotten a look at the real man before befriending him. Because this person standing in front of me?" He shook his head. "I don't want to be his friend. In fact, I want him to leave me the hell alone!"

Hawkeye reached to shove the doors open, only to find Father Mulcahy already holding one, on his way inside.

"Sorry, Father," he said. Then he pushed past the silent, eyebrows-raised priest and into the compound beyond.

A dozen pairs of eyes heated B.J. with their stares. Flushing, he too took his leave of the mess tent, heading in the opposite direction of the Chief Surgeon. There was no way he could eat breakfast now, not with everyone watching him, studying him.

Oh well. He wasn't hungry anyways.

* * *

While Margaret had given him a much-needed stay of execution, Hawkeye knew he couldn't make a habit of sharing the Head Nurse's quarters. So that night he moved back into the Swamp.

He and B.J. steadfastly avoided even _looking_ at one another. Hawkeye might have felt sorry for Charles, being stuck in the middle, except he was fairly sure Charles was rather enjoying his roommates' abnormal quiet. It was the early hours of the morning before Hawkeye was able to fall asleep.

When he woke, he was alone in the Swamp. With a sigh—a sigh was, he felt, always an appropriate reaction to waking up and finding oneself in Korea—he climbed out of bed. He tiredly dragged on boots and a red robe, drawing out the process as long as possible. Presumably B.J. was in the mess tent having breakfast, so the longer Hawkeye dawdled, the less time they would have to spend in the same enclosed area.

His plan worked well. Perhaps _too_ well. For at the exact moment that he strolled up to the mess tent, one Captain Hunnicutt was leaving it. Their eyes awkwardly caught each other. Then B.J. looked down and walked past, hands shoved in his pockets.

Hawkeye couldn't move, suddenly frozen in place.

He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder. While there had been nothing in B.J.'s expression to indicate sadness to _most_ people, Hawkeye knew his friend well, and could recognize sorrow when he saw it plastered across B.J.'s brow.

His jaw twitched. No, he thought to himself. He'd only _thought_ he'd known the man well. He yanked open the mess tent door and forced himself inside.

His preoccupation with B.J.'s wellbeing washed away. After all, it was hard not to be distracted by Klinger enacting yet another of his many schemes, especially while wearing such a gaudy orange number.

Klinger had commandeered an entire table, not that anyone seemed to mind. In fact, there was a small crowd gathered around him. One by one they exchanged pieces of scrip for... something. Hawkeye wasn't at an angle to see. He waited until the crowd cleared and then approached his cross-dressing comrade.

Set out on the table were two combat helmets, one filled with blue ribbons, the other with pink.

"Ah!" Klinger said happily, upon spotting the captain. "Good morning, sir!"

"What's this, a new betting pool? Is someone pregnant?" Hawkeye asked. Then, with a smirk, "Klinger, how many times have I warned you about letting the soldiers have their way with you?"

"Not me, sir," said Klinger. "It's for the divorce."

"Divorce? What divorce?"

"Between you and Captain Hunnicutt!" the corporal said, emphatic.

A boulder fell from Hawkeye's throat and lodged itself in his stomach.

"The pink is for Captain Hunnicutt, because of his shirts, see? And the blue is for you." Here he threw a flirtatious glance at Hawkeye. "Because of your eyes. Makes it easier to tell whose side everybody is on."

"Oh, is that right?" was Hawkeye's sardonic reply. He scanned the mess tent. Of the thirty-odd people present, only a few wore no ribbon at all, and only _four_ sported a pink one. His mind flashed back to the image of a dejected B.J.

Expression neutral, he turned back to Klinger. "So how come _you're_ not wearing one?"

"With this dress?" Klinger sounded scandalized, but he was smiling. "Besides," he said more seriously, "people feel more comfortable buying from a guy who's impartial. Makes 'em feel like they won't be judged. But, uh, just between you and me, sir." He lifted his bonnet to reveal a blue ribbon pinned to the inside lip.

Hawkeye smiled and raised his eyebrows, a face that said, _Oh, neat_. Klinger winked at him, lowering the hat.

In the space of a second, Hawkeye's smile vanished. Nostrils aflare, he snatched up the helmets with both hands.

"There is no divorce and there will be no ribbon-wearing!" he yelled. Klinger's eyebrows jumped towards the sky. "And if you ever pull another stunt like this, I'll give all your dresses to _Sophie_! Understood?"

"But, sir—!"

Holding the helmets under one arm, Hawkeye dashed away. He ran around the tent from one person to the next, tearing ribbons from shirts. A few people cried out in surprise, a few others in complaint, but most knew better than to stand in Hawkeye's way when he was in such a state.

"But, sir," Klinger protested, "you were ahead by a landslide!"

Once he'd collected every ribbon in sight, Hawkeye stormed out of the mess tent and made a beeline for the Swamp. He yanked the furnace door open. First one then two buckets of ribbons were thrown into the fire. Wisps of metaphorical steam spiraled out of Hawkeye's ears. Standing up, it was only then that he realized he was not alone.

B.J. stared at him from his cot, wide-eyed. Hawkeye could almost hear what his friend normally would have said.

 _And what did those ribbons ever do to offend_ you _?_

Or maybe it would be something more like...

 _Presenting: Hawkeye Pierce, the four-oh-seventy-seventh's own super-surgeon, vigilantly keeping Korea safe from the very real threat of colored ribbons._

To which Hawkeye would respond with the appropriately sassy remark, perhaps something about the offensive frills on Klinger's dresses, or the evil influence of cigar-smoking ribbons.

But that didn't happen. B.J's stare was unaccompanied by any smartassery. He was clearly surprised at what he'd witnessed, but also... understanding of why it had happened. Perhaps even a little grateful.

Hawkeye opened his mouth, as if to explain himself. Then he walked away.

* * *

It was no easy thing to break the habit of friendship. Hawkeye discovered this fact very quickly. The next several days were filled with more occasions than he could count wherein he made a joke and turned to see B.J.'s response, only to discover no B.J. at his side. This was always more than enough to ruin his good mood.

Even worse were the moments when he turned towards B.J. to say something, and B.J. _was_ there. Reality crashing over him like a tidal wave, Hawkeye's mouth would snap shut, wisecrack lost to the void. B.J. was never looking back at him in these moments, and so never noticed Hawkeye's near-misses of camaraderie. Hawkeye didn't know whether he was sad or glad about this.

It was after one such occurrence, at the end of a routine officers meeting, that Colonel Potter said, "Pierce. Hang around a minute."

Hawkeye obediently flopped back into his chair. Normally he would have stretched out, relaxed, put his boots up on the colonel's desk. Today he didn't have the heart for it. He waited quietly, not meeting Colonel Potter's gaze.

When the door swung shut behind Margaret, the last to leave, Colonel Potter said, "Now, Pierce. You know I'm not the kind of CO to use my authority as commanding officer to demand information of a personal nature—"

Hawkeye let out a grateful sigh. "Thank you, Colonel."

"—but just _what_ in the Sam Hill is going _on_ with you and Hunnicutt?"

Hawkeye winced. Well _that_ hadn't lasted very long.

"If this keeps up, we're going to be facing a real morale shortage around here!"

Suddenly furious, Hawkeye glared up at his CO. "That's not my problem! This thing is between me and B.J., nobody else. How about you tell everyone to get their _own_ lives and leave mine alone?"

Potter returned his glare steel for steel. "Don't act naïve, Pierce," he said, a schoolteacher scolding his best pupil. "You know darn tootin' well that you and Hunnicutt are the heart and lungs of this outfit. We need you two working in tandem if we're going to keep breathing in oxygen."

Had he been any less depressed, Hawkeye might have pouted like a spoiled child. As it was, he merely dropped his gaze. He felt nauseous as he muttered, "That's not fair."

"I don't give a horse's _heinie_ if it's not fair, because that's the way it _is_!" Potter said, rising onto the balls of his feet as he grew more impassioned. Hawkeye never failed to be impressed by how much sheer energy was contained within the small, compact man. Or how he managed to be so gruff without ever seeming unkind.

"Now if you don't do something _pronto_ "—He jabbed a finger into the air—"this whole camp might just go off the _deep_ end!"

Potter settled back down onto the flats of his feet. Looking less severe, he cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. "Besides... And I must be riding loose in the saddle to tell you this, but..." He met Hawkeye's gaze, his countenance open and honest. "I think I miss your shenanigans. It just hasn't been the same without them."

At the Colonel's heartfelt admission, Hawkeye sighed. His frustration swirled away as if down a drain. His insides were left empty. "Sorry, Colonel," he said. "We'll work it out."

"You sure about that, Pierce?" One of the Colonel's eyebrows had lifted knowingly. "Because in my experience, working things out generally requires some talking, and I don't see much of that going on lately."

"I think we both just... need some space, some time apart from each other," said Hawkeye. At Colonel Potter's unchanged expression, he insisted, "It'll be fine. I promise."

Colonel Potter harrumphed. "Why is it I don't feel very reassured?"

Hawkeye grinned, flamboyantly shrugging one shoulder. "What can I say? I was born with an untrustworthy face."

The colonel pursed his lips. "To match the rest of you."

"Now, Colonel, have I _ever_ let you down?"

"No, you haven't," was the serious reply. "So don't start now. You copy me, Pierce?"

Hawkeye gave a solemn nod. "Aye aye, sir."


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Here's the next chapter, folks! Quickest update yet I think? Gosh. Well, you guys made me so happy and grateful with all your reviews last chapter that I couldn't resist posting this earlier than planned. Thank you so much!_

* * *

When Hawkeye returned to the Swamp, he had every intention of... Well, he wasn't sure what exactly. Broken femurs? Sure, he could fix those with his eyes closed. (Not that he _would_.) But there was no medical text for surgery to fix a broken friendship. Still, he'd given Colonel Potter his word, and he'd meant it.

There was only one problem. Upon entering the Swamp—where B.J. was stretched out on his bunk, writing a letter—Hawkeye discovered something.

If the habit of friendship was hard to break, it was even harder to _mend_. Every opening line he thought up, everything from elaborate jokes to a simple "Hello," got stuck in a lump in his esophagus.

Finally he gave up and flopped onto his bed. His fingers drummed a restless rhythm on his chest.

Thrusting himself back up, he crossed his legs beneath him. He grabbed a deck of cards, thinking that what he needed was something to keep his hands occupied, lest his twitchy behavior catch the attention of his tent-mate. The nervous fiddling of his fingers transferred to his toes instead. That was fine. Much less obvious.

Sometime during Hawkeye's second game of solitaire, Charles entered the tent. His arrival had no perceptible effect on anything. There were no greetings exchanged amongst the men, nor any change in Hawkeye or B.J.'s occupations. However, for his part, Hawkeye all at once felt more keenly the ability to _breathe_.

This relief lasted right up until Charles walked over to his record player and put on an album.

Within seconds of hearing the first note, Hawkeye groaned. This particular record had been a rare find of Charles's on his last visit to Seoul. Some obscure French composer that Charles adored, and whose music was somehow even _more_ mind-numbingly painful than any of Charles's other albums. It thus had the tendency to drive Hawkeye and B.J. out of the tent and over to the O Club whenever it was played.

Without thinking, Hawkeye threw an exasperated look towards B.J. The other man turned to look at him in exactly the same moment, wearing an identical look of exasperation tinged with the friendly amusement that comes of knowing you are not alone in your suffering.

Half a second later, they remembered. They stared at one another in surprise.

Was Hawkeye only imagining it, or did he see a reflection of his own longing there in B.J.'s eyes? There were only a few feet between their bunks, it would be such an easy distance to cross...

B.J. broke their gaze. Clearing his throat, he took pen and paper in hand and exited the tent.

Hawkeye was left staring at an empty cot.

* * *

The following day brought wounded.

As terrible as it always was to operate on soldiers, this was one of those even _worse_ days when they were operating on civilians. A nearby Korean village had been bombed. This time, at least, by the North Koreans and not the U.S. army.

Happily—if such a word could possibly be used in conjunction with such an event—the village was a small one, the wounded few in number. After only two hours, they were nearly done.

That is, until the second wave arrived. This announcement caused an irate nausea to settle in B.J.'s stomach.

The feeling was actually a welcome one. Lately he'd been so wrapped up in regret and self-pity that it was a relief to be reminded that his feelings of compassion, and outrage on behalf of others, were still intact. Besides, despite how unpleasant the new feelings were, they were still a reprieve from those that had been plaguing him.

After saving an old man the use of his legs, B.J. called for the next patient and stepped back to receive new gloves. Not until it was settled on the table did he see the litter.

He froze. This girl could not be more than three years old. She was already unconscious, dirt and sweat covering her round little face. Injured. Bleeding. B.J. blinked and was transported to another place.

 _What happened, Erin?_ he almost asked. _Did you fall and scrape your knee?_

But it wasn't her knee that was bleeding. It was her chest. One glance at the x-ray showed him clearly enough why. B.J. swayed on his feet, hand clutching the edge of the table. Taking a breath, he only then realized that he'd neglected to take one since he first saw her ten seconds ago. A lifetime. He felt sure that if he looked into a mirror now, he would see nothing but old age lines and gray hair.

"What— Klinger, what are you doing, _come_ on!"

It was Hawkeye's voice to break through his stupor and reorient him to the Earth. Glancing up, he realized with a start that Hawkeye's—very sincerely aggravated—objection was to Klinger bringing B.J. a young girl to operate on. Even in their estranged state, Hawkeye was looking out for him. He bit back the threat of tears.

"Sorry, sir," Klinger was saying, apologetic but unflinching. "She and the mother were in the new batch of wounded and I figured the girl was top priority."

"Okay," said Hawkeye, obviously recognizing that Klinger was in the right. "Okay, well, I'll take her. B.J., finish up for me over here."

B.J. swallowed. "No thanks. I can do it."

"Beej," Hawkeye said, his voice tender. "You don't have to be a hero."

"I won't be much of a doctor back in the States if I can never operate on children," he pointed out. _Let me do it, Hawkeye. I_ want _to do it._

"Yeah, well, most kids swallow dimes, not shell fragments." Nevertheless, Hawkeye remained where he was, granting B.J.'s request.

B.J. looked over from the x-rays he'd been studying and met Hawkeye's gaze. He nodded thanks. Hawkeye nodded back.

Then they both got to work.

* * *

The worst part was that he'd known from the start that she had no hope of making it. Not even a fool's hope. But B.J. was worse than a fool.

He was a father.

This emotional defect was what caused him to pointlessly prolong a young girl's life by several hours, all of which were spent unconscious on a folding table. Normally the doctor in B.J. would never have done something so illogical, especially when there were other patients to be treated. But the father in B.J. knew that his conscience wouldn't allow him to look Peg—

No... Su Liyong. The mother's name was Su Liyong.

—in the eyes if he hadn't done everything possible to save her daughter.

He should have known better. Because no amount of foresight could lesson the agony of feeling the pulse peter out, of hearing the nurse confirm that there was no heartbeat, of listening to Father Mulcahy deliver last rites. His body threatened to quake and spew the contents of his stomach all over the sterile area.

But there were patients still in the waiting room, and now that there was no longer cause to be a father, B.J. became Dr. Hunnicutt once more. Compassionate, but detached. Willing to do what needed to be done. His voice was steady as he called for the next casualty.

* * *

Three more hours went by in a blur of black hair and broken bodies. Finally it ended. For a full minute after, while divesting himself of his scrubs, B.J. existed in a mental vacuum. He did not feel, did not breathe, did not think.

Then the dam burst. He ran from the operating room, slamming through the doors just in time to vomit.

Tears streaked down his face. He rounded the corner of the building, where he wouldn't be spotted by the medical personnel about to leave OR, and slid down to the ground, back pressed against the wall. Dropping his face into his hands, he began to sob.

He didn't hear any approaching footsteps, but a solid _thunk_ at his side told him he was no longer alone.

Hawkeye didn't say anything. No empty condolences or assurances of B.J.'s blamelessness. He merely wrapped an arm around B.J.'s shoulder, and pulled his friend against him.

A fresh sob tore itself from B.J.'s throat. He hadn't realized how starved for touch he'd been until that very moment. Any shame over his recent behavior vanished in the face of his overwhelming need, his need for affection, for kindness, for another human's touch.

For Hawkeye.

"Hawk. Hawk, I—" He stuttered through the tears. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't save her."

"No one could have."

"I should've let you take her. You're a better surgeon than I am. Maybe you could have—"

"Beej. I saw the x-rays. There was too much internal damage, you know that."

B.J. clenched his teeth. Then, feeling as though it was a betrayal, he nodded.

"I do. I do." Air hissed in through his teeth. "But I still hate myself for not saving her."

Another sob broke out. He crumpled forward. His guts were wound as tightly as Erin's jack-in-the-box at home. He kicked the dusty ground. "God _dammit_."

He wanted to rage against the war. The senseless killing, the futility of stitching soldiers back together like rag dolls only so they could go on killing, and if they were unlucky—lucky?—dying themselves. But he couldn't say all that and cry at the same time. So he cried. Besides, he had a feeling Hawk already knew everything he wanted to say.

Hawkeye gripped him tighter. His hand slid from B.J.'s shoulder to his neck, and he pressed his forehead against the side of B.J.'s head, hard. Each point of contact with Hawkeye was an anchor. Warm, feather-light breaths were against B.J.'s cheek now, so close he could hear each one with perfect clarity.

For the first time, B.J. turned his watery gaze up. He was met by empathetic blue eyes and suddenly he was drowning, drowning, drowning—

The jack-in-the-box sprang free.

B.J. lunged forward, stealing Hawkeye's lips in a kiss. The moment their lips touched, a firestorm roared to life inside of B.J., like a phoenix from the ashes. His limbs tingled. Every nerve in his body was ablaze at this new, all-too-pleasurable kind of touch. He was desperate to reach out and grab hold of the body beside him. He wanted—no _, needed_ to feel it, grasp it, to mark every inch of skin his fingers could find.

Alarmed, Hawkeye jumped and started to pull away.

His lips detached from B.J.'s. Something inside of B.J. began to scream, a shrill, piercing, twisting shriek.

"Beej, _stop_. Don't—"

B.J. took firm hold of Hawkeye's jaw, pressing his lips even more forcefully against the other man's. The screams silenced. Air filled his lungs again. All that was left was Hawkeye Hawkeye Hawkeye...

He nearly moaned. Hawkeye tasted so, so sweet. He tasted of gin and music and snow melted by a rising sun and just enough sweat from hours in OR to have the salty flavor of sex. His lips were soft and full, delicate but pliable, and B.J. never wanted them to stop touching his own. His body throbbed. God, oh God, how he'd ached for—

A strong hand broke his grip, and Hawkeye yanked his head backwards. His eyes were burning.

B.J. froze. His mouth fell open in horror as he realized what had just happened.

Before he could explain— _Explain?_ he thought scornfully. There was no reasonable explanation for what he'd done. (He silenced the parts of himself that suggested otherwise.)—Hawkeye was speaking.

"First you treat me like a verbal punching bag, then a warm mouth! Well guess what, buster? I'm not some _toy_ for you to play with. Go find somebody else's good nature to abuse."

He dropped B.J.'s hand and got to his feet. The lanky surgeon trudged away without a single backwards glance, leaving B.J. to reel at the sudden chill of the air and his own rash, selfish stupidity.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: As always, a huge thanks to my reviewers. You are a lovely bunch of people. I've gotten a little busier at work lately, so that might slow me down a little, but I'm going to do my best to keep updating hopefully once a week? Fingers crossed. Enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

Hawkeye wanted to be mad at his friend. He really, really did. It had been so easy before, with B.J.'s spiteful words and sulky attitude.

But this was different. B.J.'s silence now seemed to come from a place, not of petulance, but of repentance. Out of—how dare he—respect for Hawkeye's wishes. B.J. was utterly polite towards him, nodding in greeting when Hawkeye entered the Swamp, holding the mess door open if Hawkeye was leaving when B.J. was arriving, and all around being as considerate and courteous as he naturally was with everyone.

That alone might not have been enough to stem Hawkeye's ire. It was the sorrowful sheen, the eternal apology in B.J.'s eyes that did the trick.

Hawkeye wondered if anyone else could see it, or if he alone was privy to the depths of B.J.'s remorse. All anyone _else_ knew was that he and B.J. had had yet another fight, one that was unequivocally B.J.'s fault. There may have been no resurrection of the 'divorce ribbons,' but no one could mistake the fact that the whole MASH 4077th had pitted itself behind Hawkeye and put B.J. in the doghouse.

The _facts_ of the situation didn't seem to concern anyone. While Hawkeye felt he should have been appreciative of the unquestioning support from his friends, he instead felt angry on B.J.'s behalf. B.J., on the other hand, seemed to agree with general opinion. If his repentant isolation was anything to go by.

Already balanced on a knife's edge, it was a letter from the States that tipped Hawkeye into action.

A letter to Hawkeye.

From Peg.

One morning, a little more than a week after _the incident which shall never be thought of even in private_ , Radar came round the Swamp with mail call. Charles was at the mess and B.J. was on post-op duty, so Hawkeye had the tent to himself. He was using the time to catch up on matters of personal grooming, namely the trimming of toenails.

So when the door swung open and Radar's voice said, "Mail call, sir," he merely put his left hand up, not looking away from the work his right was doing. Two letters were thrust into his palm.

"Thank you, Radar," he murmured. He started to lower his hand, only to find it tethered in place. He frowned, turning to look at the small hand still clutching his letters.

"Radar, you can let go now. I promise not to let them off their leash," he joked.

Then he glanced up at the corporal's face. Radar's eyebrows were angled downward, his mouth firmly set. On anyone else the expression would have been an intentionally comical exaggeration of 'reprimand.' On Radar, he knew it was genuine.

He raised his own eyebrows. "What's got _your_ panties in a bunch?"

Radar's mouth formed a perfect O of indignation. "I don't wear panties!"

Hawkeye sighed. "What's the matter, Radar?"

The stern expression returned. "Well, sir, all due respect and all, and I'm sure you've got a good reason for not talking to Captain Hunnicutt, but I want you to know that I think it's real crummy!"

Before Hawkeye could get a word in, Radar continued, "And I think it's _extra_ crummy for you to be talking to his wife behind his back!"

"What?" he exclaimed. "Radar, what are you talking about?"

"Well you _wrote_ her, didn't you?"

"Of course not! Why would you think I did?"

Radar shot a pointed look at the letters. Finally Hawkeye yanked them from the boy's grasp. The first was a letter from his dad. The second...

Well. There was no doubt about it. Even if it hadn't been postmarked Mill Valley, he knew Peg Hunnicutt's handwriting by heart. And there, where her letters were always addressed to her husband, sat the name 'Benjamin Franklin Pierce.' Intense curiosity begged Hawkeye not to wait a single second before tearing into the envelope.

But first he turned to his friend. "Radar, you handle all of the mail that goes in or out of this place," he said, hand gesturing. "Have you seen a letter in my handwriting addressed to Mill Valley lately?"

Corporal O'Reilly's disapproving glare melted. He shifted between his feet, hands tucked beneath his armpits.

"Oh, well, uh," he said. "Now that you mention it, no I guess not."

"Funny coincidence, because I haven't sent one," Hawkeye said, characteristically snarky, but with a friendly lilt. Radar's mouth raised on one side in an apologetic smile.

"Right," he said. "So, uh, what do you think she said in there, huh?"

"What, you didn't have time to shine a light through it this morning?" Hawkeye said, grinning.

"Hey, I never read any of your mail!" Radar protested. Then he gave a half-shrug. "Only the dirty ones," he added, with an air that suggested he knew full well how cheeky he was being.

Hawkeye's grin widened even further. "And how do you know which ones are dirty?"

"Oh, that's easy, sir. They're the ones that smell like ladies' perfume."

Hawkeye made a playful gesture as though he was going to whack the younger man with his mail. "Out, you! Out I say!"

Smiling, Radar spun around and stumbled slightly on his way out the door. Hawkeye yelled after him, "And no more reading my dirty letters or I'll tell your mother!"

"How, sir?" Radar called back, now almost twenty feet away. "I monitor all correspondence in or out of camp!" With that, he hustled off to deliver the rest of the mail.

With one last grin for his child-sized friend—it wasn't often that Radar successfully got the last word, after all!—Hawkeye shook his head.

Then he turned his attention to the letter. The letter from Peg.

He may have given Radar the runaround, but he was wondering the exact same thing. What did Peg Hunnicutt have to say to _him_ , after all? He'd only ever received one letter from her before, and that had been in response to his inquiry about B.J.'s full name. _This_ letter was unprovoked.

He tore open the envelope, and soon had six full pages spread out in front of him. He read:

 _Dear Hawkeye,_

 _I know we've never met. Never even spoken, really. All we know of each other are through the stories my husband tells._

 _But it is because of those stories that I know I can come to you now. B.J. has always described you as the best sort of man, and the best friend he's ever had. I know that, were it not for you, the war would be taking a much greater toll on him than it is._

 _I need your help. B.J. needs your help._

 _He won't tell me what's happened. From the details he's let slip through, I only know enough to say that, for some reason, he has himself convinced that everyone in your unit despises him. From everything he's told me in the past, I cannot imagine that this is true, or how he could even_ think _it. Perhaps you'll know what I can't, stuck thousands of miles away as I am._

 _B.J. insists to me that he's all right. But Hawkeye, I know my husband. I know my husband and I can tell when he is depressed._

 _I don't know what to do. I try my best to offer him support, love. But from the other side of the world, I may as well be shouting into the sky. In all truth, I feel that chivalry is the only reason B.J. writes to me still. He knows that I would go half mad with worry if he were to stop sending letters, but given the choice, I believe he would retreat so far within himself that even I would never hear from him again._

 _That is why I ask you to give him what I can't. Someone who is_ there _, who will listen and help and see that he gets better, that he knows he is loved, cared for._

 _Please, Hawkeye. I've never heard him so miserable in all the years we've known each other and I can't bear it. I can't bear not knowing the cause, and being powerless to do anything._

 _B.J. is too proud to come to you himself. He's such a brave man. Thinking his pain isn't worth the consideration of others. But he is as human as you or I, and sometimes needs help just the same. I'm worried for him as I haven't been since he was first handed his draft card._

 _Please, Hawkeye, will you do it? Will you take care of him in my stead?_

 _Forever your friend,_

 _Peg Hunnicutt_

Slowly Hawkeye folded the letter and slipped it back in its envelope. He stretched his eyes as wide as they could go, fighting back scalding tears.

How bad did things have to be for Peg to write this letter? Some unhappiness certainly wasn't unusual for people living in a warzone. And yet, Peg had been so worried that she'd written to Hawkeye in secret, asking for his help.

Deep shame skewered him. Why hadn't he acted before now? It wasn't as if he couldn't see for himself how depressed B.J. was. Now here was the confirmation that B.J.'s unhappiness went as deep, _deeper_ even than Hawkeye had thought.

And he'd done nothing. He'd been too busy punishing B.J. instead. Because really, wasn't that what he was doing? Punishing B.J. for a mistake, a mistake he clearly regretted with all his heart, a mistake made in the midst of severe emotional trauma. And so Hawkeye hadn't done what he should have. _Helped_ his friend.

Guilt curdled in his gut. He swallowed sour saliva. _Most Selfish Man Alive award?_ he thought bitterly. _Yes, right here, thank you!_ God, what had he done? Out of hurt, and spite, what pain had he caused his best friend? The best man Hawkeye had ever known. The person that he loved most in all the world.

Self-recrimination could come later, he told himself. First he had to _fix_ it.

But it wasn't just as easy as forgiving the man and moving on. Any overtures of friendship made _now_ would be stoutly ignored; not out of pride, but because he had so thoroughly convinced B.J. that he wasn't wanted anymore and B.J. wouldn't accept a friendship of charity. He would sooner suffer in silence.

That wouldn't do. No. All it would take was some time and effort to convince B.J. that his friendship _was_ desired. And in the meanwhile, it was time to go to work. A band-aid on the wound wasn't a long-term solution, but desperate times called for desperate shortcuts.

No fool, Hawkeye shoved the letter into the furnace, burning all evidence of his correspondence from Peg Hunnicutt.

* * *

Hawkeye rapped on Major Houlihan's door.

"Who is it?" she called.

"It's Hawkeye."

"Come in, Captain Pierce."

He did just that. Margaret was busy hanging her clothes up to dry when he entered.

"What do you need, Pierce?" she asked.

Swallowing, he shot a glance back at her door as he walked further inside, as if the door might have ears. "It's about B.J."

Margaret glanced at him, surprised. "What about him?"

"He thinks the whole camp is against him!"

"Good, then he's got full possession of his faculties," she said frankly, and not without a hint of satisfaction.

After B.J.'s assault on Hawkeye's mouth and emotional fragility, Margaret had borne the brunt of Hawkeye's hurt—though he hadn't disclosed the sticky details—and thus was sturdy in her knowledge that B.J. did indeed deserve all that he was getting.

" _Margaret_."

"What?" She sighed at his unamused look. She grabbed another clothespin and snapped it into place. "Pierce, whether you like it or not, when it comes down to you or Captain Hunnicutt, there's hardly a soul in this camp who won't choose you. You've been here from the start! You're family to these people. So is he, but it'll never be the same." She gave a tug to a wet shirt, straightening the wrinkles.

"That's exactly the problem!" Hawkeye exclaimed. "He feels like he'll never be accepted because he hasn't been rotting in this garbage heap as long as the rest of us."

"So? What do you want _me_ to do about it?" she asked, her high-pitched tone almost certainly rhetorical.

A coy, triumphant grin spread across Hawkeye's cheeks.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Thank you so much for all your reviews. I love hearing from you guys. I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

Though she'd been none too thrilled with the assignment in the _first_ place, Margaret was even _more_ bothered by her failure to complete it. If there was anything one could say about Margaret Houlihan, it was that she succeeded in any endeavor she set her mind to.

Except, as it seemed, this one. Coaxing B.J. out of his turtle shell.

In fairness, the _actual_ task set to her had merely been to convince the 4077th to be friendly with B.J. again. In this she succeeded spectacularly. (If only because they were too afraid of her to disobey her orders.)

But it didn't matter how many people she talked around because, as it turned out, B.J. was having none of it. When the nurses sat with him at lunch, he made polite apologies and excused himself. When the enlisted men invited him to join their games of basketball, he politely declined and returned to the Swamp. So even though she'd done exactly as Hawkeye had asked, failure continued to gnaw at her stomach lining. After all, if the objective hadn't been achieved, how could her efforts be considered a success?

Finally she decided to pull out the big guns. Perhaps what B.J. needed wasn't merely the forgiveness of all, but for someone, _any_ one, to put B.J. _first_. To choose _B.J._ over _Hawkeye_.This was a job that could not be given to anyone who had already made clear an allegiance to Hawkeye. It had to be a previously-neutral party.

There was only one man suited to the task.

* * *

Charles Winchester III was in the shower when Margaret cornered him. Amid his indignant splutters and attempts to cover his bare chest, Margaret explained the reason for her visit. Namely, the ongoing feud between Captains Pierce and Hunnicutt, and Charles's thus-far neutrality.

"I prefer not to involve myself in the squabbles of children," he told her, clearly of the mind that the sooner he cooperated, the sooner she would leave.

"I'm afraid that's not an option anymore."

His jaw unhinged. "Are you telling me I have to _pick sides_?" Somehow, the way he uttered 'pick sides' made the words sound like a pedestrian phrase that caused him offense merely by coming out of his mouth.

Margaret gave a smile that chilled him to the bone. "I'm telling you you've been _assigned_ a side," she said. "Welcome to Team Hunnicutt, Major."

She left the stream-rolled surgeon to finish his shower alone.

* * *

Something sharp jabbed him in the abdomen. Charles turned to glare at the woman behind him in the lunch line. She gestured with her eyes.

"Go on," Margaret said. "I have _complete_ faith in you, Major Winchester."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," he grumbled.

Nevertheless—after one more jab, anyways—he took food tray in hand and approached a table that was empty save for one person.

Dr. B.J. Hunnicutt. Unwilling Captain of the United States Army, and current pariah of the MASH 4077th.

B.J. didn't seem surprised when Charles sat across from him. Neither did he seem to care.

"Is this seat taken?" Charles asked, his overly polite tone at clear odds with the sarcastic question. He winced.

"Not at all," B.J. said, taking a bite of mixed greens.

"Lovely."

Silence fell over and around them. B.J. continued to eat his lunch, for once making no quips as to its quality or lack thereof. Discomfort settled inside of Charles like a bug, a many-legged insect scurrying around his intestines. His buttocks fidgeted on the bench.

Clearing his throat, Charles said, "So. Hunnicutt."

B.J. looked at him, nothing in his manner to indicate that this was anything other than a normal day in Korea. Charles's mouth opened and closed. He cleared his throat again.

"We've had very fine weather of late, don't you think so?"

"Sure have," B.J. agreed. He went back to eating.

"It reminds me of springtime in Boston," said Charles, rather pointed, he felt, in his intention to carry on a conversation.

But B.J.'s only response was a smile and nod. Charles felt his patience already beginning to disintegrate. _If I wanted to pull teeth, I'd have become a dentist_ , he thought irritably.

"Does it... remind _you_ of home?" he prodded.

"Not enough fog," was B.J.'s answer. Charles's eyelid twitched as he battled to contain an eye-roll.

Just as he opened his mouth once again, Charles was mercifully spared from further exercise in the art of monologuing.

"All right if we join you folks?" asked a jaunty voice.

This time Charles _did_ witness a flicker of surprise across B.J.'s face, as Hawkeye and Margaret sat with them. The look was gone in a second. For a moment it seemed that B.J. was going to allow this new development to occur. But then, as it so often did, Hawkeye's mouth kept running and ruined a good thing.

"You looked so bored with only Major Snorefest for company," he said, full of mirth, "Margaret and I thought you could use some rescuing."

Oh, B.J. gave the appropriate smile in response, certainly. But Charles saw too as a light went out of his eyes.

"Well, I appreciate the thought," B.J. said, smiling. "But I was finished anyhow. Enjoy your lunches, everyone." At which junction he took his (still half full) tray and left, dumping the food in the trash as he exited.

Margaret whacked Hawkeye's arm.

"Ow!" he protested.

"And what was that for?" she demanded. "You just _had_ to make it sound like we were taking pity on him."

"I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking."

"Is that meant to be news?" Charles snarked.

Hawkeye spared him the half-second necessary for a glare, then, "I got nervous, it just slipped out." He dropped his chin miserably onto his hand.

Margaret pointed a finger at him. "If that man's ribs start to show through his shirts"—Kindly, no one mentioned the fact that all his shirts of late were green or beige, never pink—"I'm holding you responsible, doctor."

"Believe me, so am I," he mumbled.

Suddenly Margaret's gaze was on Charles, fierce and expectant. He nearly leapt from his seat.

" _What_ , Major?"

She gestured towards the mess door.

"Well, go after him!" she said. Charles harrumphed at her, but stood up nonetheless.

With a slight jump, he caught the apple tossed at him without warning.

"And take that to him," Margaret said. "He needs to eat."

Smiling smugly, Charles tossed it back. She caught it on instinct, but her lips began to pucker with displeasure.

Before she could speak, Charles said, "Any attempts to baby Hunnicutt will go over _about_ as well, I should think, as Pierce's inadvisable attempts at speaking."

Thus, sans apple, he trailed B.J. back to the Swamp. The younger man was just settling in to darn a pair of old socks, seeming placid as a lake. What sea creatures and whirlpools might be causing mayhem below the surface, Charles did not know.

Daring to hope that simple _logic_ might be the cure for the cancer which had infected their little pocket of the war, Charles decided to get right at the heart of the issue.

"You know, Hunnicutt, I do believe Pierce genuinely desired your company at lunch."

B.J. looked up with a startled blink. Charles used the opportunity to go on.

"There is no reason that _I_ can see, certainly, why you should continue to ignore the olive branches he extends to you. Clearly it is what you both desire, to be once more in each other's cahoots, driving the rest of the camp mad with your inanities." He smiled, but a quirk of the lips turned it into something closer to a smirk.

B.J.'s hollow eyes stared at him a second longer. Then back to his socks. "He doesn't. Trust me. Colonel Potter is probably putting pressure on him. Or he feels sorry for me."

Like a twig had been snapped, Charles immediately abandoned any attempts at mediation. If he had to play babysitter to Pierce and Hunnicutt for the rest of the war, he would well and truly lose his mind. So why try? B.J. was obviously not interested in listening to sense. Better, then, merely to do what Margaret had asked—demanded—of him in the first place. Play on Team Hunnicutt.

He held back a snort. That wouldn't be hard. Pierce was an unmatched pain in the derrière, and Charles didn't care who knew it.

"If you say so, then I'm sure you are right," he said equitably. "Guilt, most likely. I have no doubt that whatever transpired between you was his own fault. Truly, the man is like a child dressed up in his father's clothes. Heh," he huffed, grinning at his own description and the image it inspired of a young B.F. Pierce wearing a suit ten sizes too large.

Suddenly a hand was fisted in the front of his shirt. Charles emitted a loud cry as he was pulled face to face with an enflamed behemoth. All of the emotion that had been absent from B.J.'s eyes in the past two weeks came flooding back all at once, and the emotion of the day seemed to be _rage_.

"You don't know a damn thing about it, Winchester!" B.J. growled, giving him a shake. "Hawkeye didn't do anything wrong, you got that? It was me. And for your information, he's not a _child_. He's the best damn surgeon in this whole damn outfit, probably this whole damn _war_ , and he deserves your respect!"

Chuckling nervously, Charles threw up his arms in surrender. "You are _absolutely_ right. Of course! I don't know what I was saying! Dr. Pierce is a _wonderful_ asset to our little unit. I, for one, hardly know what we'd do without him!"

B.J. released his grip on the older man, shoving Charles back a step. Jaw clicking with controlled anger, he took several paces backward, still glaring at his tent-mate. Then the door crashed open and closed behind him.

Charles sagged, sucking in relieved air.

At that very moment, he spotted a certain nurse making her way across camp. Teeth grinding together, he stomped out of the Swamp.

Margaret came to a halt when her path was intercepted. Her eyes went wide at the sight of Charles, her mouth falling open to ask—

"Consider me officially _off_ the team!" he yelled, then spun on his heel and stomped away.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Yay, new chapter! I'm trying my best to keep up this once-a-week pace, but that may only hold out for a couple more chapters. Thanks so much to you lovely reviewers! You are definitely my biggest motivation. This was... a toughie to write, so I hope it meets with your expectations. Ciao!_

* * *

"Colonel, something has to be done!"

"You think I don't know that?" Potter retorted. Hawkeye was pacing back and forth in his office, agitated as a hive of bees that had been poked with a stick. Colonel Potter couldn't blame him. The situation with Captain Hunnicutt was only getting worse by the day. "I'd give the man three days R&R if I didn't think he'd spend it on a seventy-two hour bender."

Hawkeye shook his head. "Whatever this is, it's not that kind of sadness. I haven't seen him touch a drop in weeks. He'd be more likely to stay locked in his hotel room for three days and come back wearing a big smile, pretending he'd had the trip of a lifetime."

"So what would be your prescription, doctor?" Colonel Potter asked, bowing to Hawkeye's superior knowledge of his friend. "What's it gonna take to get our jolly green giant singing campfire songs again?"

"That's just the problem. I _have_ no prescription." Hawkeye regarded the Colonel seriously. "We need to bring in an expert."

* * *

Having now alienated not just one but _both_ of his roommates, B.J. decided it was a good time to familiarize himself with the linen closet. He'd brought a pack of cards and some writing utensils, with every intention of bunking down for the night so as not to bother Hawkeye or Charles with his presence.

Truth be told, he felt a little embarrassed over blowing up at Major Winchester. But it was as if the man had tailored his speech _specifically_ to rile B.J.! His scornful words had been so reminiscent of Frank—back in the time when a staged fight had become a real one—that B.J. lost control.

 _It was more than that_ , his mind whispered at him. Against his will, a memory, far more recent, floated in front of his eyes.

" _Don't,"_ Hawkeye had said. _"Don't treat me like I'm a child."_

And then for Charles to say such a thing... _"like a child dressed up in his father's clothes"_... it had been too much.

Thus the family of rats occupying the linen closet had graciously allowed B.J. to move into their home.

"Much obliged," B.J. murmured to them. He held out a bite-sized piece of bread left over from dinner. One of the rats crept towards him, then away again. B.J. held still.

"Don't worry," he said. "I only eat rat on Wednesdays."

The rat scampered out again. This time it sniffed at the bread pinched between B.J.'s fingers. Then, nose a-wrinkle, it scurried back to the corner.

B.J. let out a bright laugh. "Yeah, can't argue with you there, little fella."

A knock came at the door. B.J.'s head snapped up. Before he could decide what to say, if anything, a voice came through the door.

"Can I come in?"

The voice was one B.J. knew well. He relaxed with familiarity, even as his gut clenched. There could be no mistaking the purpose of this visit.

"Unless the war's cut you off at the knees too," he answered.

The closet door creaked open. Sidney Freedman poked his head through. Spotting B.J., he slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He observed their surroundings, hands tucked casually in his pockets.

"So what brings you to my neck of the war, Sidney?"

"Oh, I'm here for the poker convention," said Sidney. "Thought I'd stop by and check out the new hotel in town. I hear it's getting great reviews."

"You wouldn't believe the going rate," agreed B.J. "Shaun and Valerie were kind enough to rent me out a room half-price."

"Shaun and Valerie?"

B.J. gestured towards the rat-occupied corner. Sidney nodded as though this made perfect sense.

"Well, it's very nice," he said.

"Only five-star joint in town. One for each rat," B.J. explained.

"Mind if I sit?"

B.J. motioned to the floor next to him. "Be my guest."

Sidney crouched and then lowered himself onto the ground.

"So," he said.

B.J. immediately looked away, hands fidgeting. Small talk could only last for so long, but that didn't mean he was ready for the conversation he knew was coming.

"Not that I don't like your new place, but I can't help but wonder why you left the old one. Wanna tell me about it?"

B.J. shrugged one shoulder. "I was taking up too much space."

"Physically or emotionally?"

B.J. didn't say anything. His thumbs rubbed frantic lines over his palms.

Sidney shifted, settling himself more comfortably. "Colonel Potter tells me that you and Hawkeye have had a falling out. Is that true?"

"Sure, you could call it that."

"What would _you_ call it?"

Already the surgeon's body was growing tense. It wasn't Sidney's questions that set him on edge, but rather the remembering of his own monumental mistakes.

"I'd call it an 'I pushed Hawkeye off a cliff and then fell after him because it turned out he was the only thing keeping me balanced on the ledge,'" he said tightly.

"Sounds serious."

"Look, Sidney..." B.J. sighed. "I know you only want to help, but I'm so twisted even _I_ don't know what's going on with me."

"Well that's perfect; I got my undergrad in untwisting," was Sidney's light-hearted reply. B.J. huffed a laugh, but there wasn't much behind it. "Why don't you tell me how it started."

"That would be easier if I knew what 'it' _was_."

The doctor's head tilted, his eyes never leaving B.J.'s face. "I think you do know."

B.J. flushed. He should know better. Sidney had always been able to see through everybody's bull. Even so, he couldn't force the words out. They sounded so petty and childish even in his own head.

 _Why did I pop my top, you ask? Only due to insane, irrational jealousy towards a man I've never even met._

 _It's not insane if you're right_ , his mind hissed back. He gritted his teeth. If Hawkeye _did_ like Trapper better, it probably had _something_ to do with the fact that Trapper had never treated Hawkeye like an _object_ to be used in order to make himself feel better, Hawkeye's feelings be damned.

How could he even begin to explain that to Sidney?

"Do you have any siblings, B.J.?"

The man blinked. "Uh, no, I don't. Why do you ask?"

Sidney shrugged. "I've got two older brothers myself."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Jacob was six and Andrew was four when I was born."

"Are you close to them?"

"As adults we are," Sidney said. "But growing up was a different story. I was always the small one, too young to ever really be friends with them, even when they were friends with each other. Somehow I could never shake the feeling that I was less a part of the family than they were. After all, they'd had a whole four years before me, without me."

B.J. gave a noncommittal hum. It didn't take a genius to see the metaphor at play.

"But you wanna know the funny thing about it?" Sidney said.

B.J. couldn't help but meet the psychiatrist's steady, honest gaze. His heart thrummed a little faster with something he didn't want to recognize as _hope_.

"Once, when I told my brothers that, they said they never felt that way. That I was always their little brother, as much a part of the family as they were."

B.J. sighed and shook his head. "That's a nice homemade parable, Sidney, but it's not the same."

"It is and it isn't," was the doctor's simple answer. "Do you really believe you haven't become an irreplaceable part of this unit in the time since you got here?"

"Everyone's replaceable," B.J. said, his voice a little hoarse. "Colonels are replaceable. Nurses are replaceable. Doctors are replaceable. That's what war _is_. Trapper left Hawkeye so the army shipped me here to replace him."

"Trapper left Hawkeye?" Sidney repeated, in the very calm, unsurprised, non-judgmental way he had of digging your deepest fears out of your most innocuous utterances. "Not the four-oh-seven-seven?"

B.J. looked aside. For a minute neither of them spoke. Sidney seemed just as content to stare at the wall as talk. B.J. had always appreciated that about him, that he knew when not to push.

In the silence, B.J. began to unwind. Gut unclenching, teeth unclamping. Instead, helium filled his stomach and the tightness moved up into his chest, pushing upward, words rushing up to his mouth as through propelled by a geyser. If B.J. were a superstitious man he might have thought Sidney had some special voodoo power that compelled any who looked him in the eyes to share their darkest secrets.

"Peg and I met in high school," he said. Sidney turned to listen, no indication that he found this topic of conversation a non-sequitur. "I liked her right away. But she liked a friend of mine, Digger. They dated for eight months before Peg and I ever got together."

"And that bothered you?"

"No," B.J. said honestly. "She chose _me_."

It was quiet for only a few seconds, then,

"But Hawkeye didn't choose you."

These words were said, not meanly, but as the unspoken finish to B.J.'s confession.

And there it was. The greatest source of B.J.'s insecurity, finally spoken aloud. Hawkeye hadn't _chosen_ B.J. over Trapper; the choice had been made _for_ him. And if Hawkeye were given the choice today either to keep B.J. or to have Trapper back, B.J. didn't know what Hawkeye would do. A truly devastating thought. There were few things in the world quite so heartbreaking as _not_ being your best friend's best friend.

This was something B.J. hadn't even known until recently. He'd had friends before, even boys he _called_ 'best friends.' But it wasn't until meeting Hawkeye that he truly learned the meaning of the phrase, and discovered just how intensely a person could experience the feeling of friendship.

Free from the anguish of self-imposed silence, all of B.J.'s muscles went limp. He released a bitter, breathy laugh. "What do you think of that, eh, Sidney? Here we are in the middle of a war and they send you to deal with a five-year-old who doesn't like hand-me-downs. What a joke."

"That's why I'm over here, B.J.," Sidney said. "You patch up the ones with holes in their stomachs, I patch up the rest. Your pain isn't insignificant just because it wouldn't show up on an x-ray. Would _you_ ever tell a soldier that he had no right to be unhappy because others had taken worse hits?"

No answer was needed so B.J. didn't give one. Honesty had cut away his defenses, leaving him open, vulnerable. He couldn't look at the psychiatrist. He stared at the wall instead.

Sidney allowed the silence to settle for a moment, but B.J. knew their session was far from over. With Sidney's experience and insight, there was no question that he could tell there was more going on than B.J. had given voice to thus far.

B.J.'s heart began to race faster and faster as he visualized the remainder of their chat. Sidney wouldn't leave before discovering the crux of the issue, and if he did that, then he would know. He would know the truth that B.J. had been desperately running from, trying to ignore, to will out of existence, the truth that could end B.J.'s life as he knew it. His pulse pounded in his ears. The more he thought about it, the more afraid he grew. Maybe he could stop it from happening, maybe—

"I noticed that you drew a comparison between your relationship with Peg and your relationship with Hawkeye," said Sidney.

 _Ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum_. B.J.'s sweaty hands clenched and unclenched.

"So?" he asked.

There was a pause. B.J. looked up—and what he saw was Major Sidney Freedman thinking, pondering, carefully considering his next words. B.J.'s heart slammed against his chest. He'd never known Sidney to be anything but direct and plainspoken. The man had never before needed to plan out his words before daring to speak them. But now, for the first time ever, he felt that need.

Sidney opened his mouth.

 _BA-BUM BA-BUM BA-BUM._

"Are you angry because you feel that Hawkeye was better friends with Trapper than he is with you?" Sidney asked. His head tilted, his eyes drilling holes into B.J.'s soul. "Or, is it possible that you feel guilty for certain feelings you have towards Hawkeye, hurt that he doesn't share those feelings, and then guilty all over again for feeling hurt?"

 _BUM_. One last heartbeat like the ring of a gong.

Then it all melted away. B.J. felt the warmth gather in his face before the sting of tears behind his eyes. His lips quivered, despite his best efforts to stiffen them.

Sidney knew. He knew he knew he knew he knew.

Shaking, his eyes trained down at his hands, B.J. asked, "Are you going to report me?"

"Now does that sound like something I'd do?"

He pushed out a tremulous breath, shame mixed with relief. "No. No, of course not." He forced himself to look his friend in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Sidney. I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't," Sidney said kindly.

B.J. looked away again. He dragged his teeth over his lips, as though that would halt their trembling. Biting down hard, he stared up at the ceiling. "How did this happen?" he croaked.

There was a momentary, thoughtful silence. Then, "The way that human beings experience attraction is still by and large a mystery to us." Even though B.J. was looking elsewhere, he could feel the doctor's gaze upon him. "But just because you're attracted to a man _now_ , that doesn't invalidate the way you've always felt towards women."

B.J. scoffed. His shame was already lessening, no doubt due to Sidney's exceptionally understanding attitude. Sidney's easy acceptance of the situation had the effect of making B.J. feel as though he _hadn't_ just revealed a deep and shocking secret. Rather, they could be discussing something as commonplace as the latest Army vs. Navy football game. His cheeks began to cool.

"That's not what I'm talking about," he said, almost offended by the suggestion, though he knew it was a fair one. "I don't care about that. So what if I've never felt about a man the way I feel about Hawkeye? That doesn't matter."

"So what's the problem?"

"What's—?" He turned wide, disbelieving eyes on his friend. "Sidney, I'm a married man! I _love_ my _wife_! I... Before I left home, I never swore to be faithful to Peg because I never thought I'd be tempted _other_ wise! This isn't, this isn't some, some middling attraction, some mistake because I'm missing my wife and kid. This is real. I'm... I'm..." B.J. swallowed. Oh God, was he really going to say it?

He really was.

"In love," he completed. Something, some emotion, struck his chest like a drum, but he ignored it. "With someone who isn't my wife, someone who... Who I can never, _never_ have."

And if he'd thought that saying the words 'in love' had been painful... it was nothing compared to acknowledging the fact that his love was hopeless.

B.J. sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes darting back and forth with surprise. The sharp ache in his gut was _real_ and _painful_ and caused him far greater anguish than the simple admittance of love had. What could that possibly mean?

No, he knew what it meant. It meant that he was much farther gone than he'd realized. Somehow, somewhere along the line, he'd come to _accept_ his love for Hawkeye, unspoken though it was, as though his love for the man was... inevitable. Incontestable. Hardly an issue worth feeling guilt over.

The only thing causing him pain now was, not the guilt over falling in love, but the knowledge that his love would never, _could_ never be returned.

B.J. swallowed, lowering his head with shame. God, what would Peg think if she saw him now? Would she hate him? He hoped so. If only because he couldn't find it in him to hate himself, and he knew, he _knew_ , that he deserved it.

He'd almost forgotten the Major's presence when suddenly,

"Do you feel that there's no point even in being friends with Hawkeye unless you can have him in the way that you want?"

B.J. jumped. "What?" he said. "No! Of course not!"

"Because that's how you're treating him," Sidney pointed out.

Another shot of guilt sank down into B.J.'s gut, its taste more bitter than any homebrewed martini. "I don't..." He swallowed. "I'm not doing it to hurt him. Really. That's the last thing I want. I just... It's me. I can't _control_ myself."

"I suggest you try to learn to, or you may lose him completely," said Sidney, his gaze sympathetic. "And I don't think you want that."

B.J. knew the wisdom of Sidney's words, knew them with every piece of his soul. God, he would do anything to go back to the way things had been once upon a time. There was nothing he wanted more. But...

"It's more than that now," he said. "There's a... a gap between us. Of my own stupid making." He shrugged, eyebrows raised in helplessness, a distinct wetness in his eyes. "And I don't know how to bridge it."

"The neat thing about that," Sidney said, "is you're not the only one who wants to."

A warm updraft caught B.J.'s heart and carried it high. He breathed deep, a man ten pounds lighter. "You think so?" he asked, unable to contain a shy, hopeful smile.

"I'd stake all my poker money on it," was Sidney's straight answer. Then the doctor slapped his knees and stood up. "Which reminds me, the game's about to get started. Would you like to tag along?"

B.J. smiled at his friend, his first true smile in weeks. "Not tonight," he said. "Soon, though, I think. Thanks, Sidney."

Returning B.J.'s smile, Dr. Sidney Freedman nodded his goodbye and then was gone, as though nothing had ever passed between them.

Only the flare of optimism in a young man's heart proved that anything had.

* * *

B.J. returned to the Swamp in the early hours of the morning, when he knew the poker game would be long over.

Sure enough the tent was dark, all visiting players retired to their own beds and Hawkeye and Charles asleep in theirs. B.J. eased the door shut behind him. Best not to wake Hawkeye if possible; the man got little enough sleep as it was. The door closed quietly. Hawkeye slept on, dead to the world.

Standing just inside the door, B.J. allowed himself a moment to watch his friend. Just watch him. As often as not, Hawkeye's nights were plagued by bad dreams, nightmares that dug a perpetual crease between his brows and fluttered his lips with nonsensical mumbling.

Not tonight, however. Tonight he rested as peacefully as a man who had never known war, and B.J.'s heart ached to see it.

Having looked his fill—or rather, looked as long as he could without feeling guilty for watching Hawk like some perverted stalker—B.J. stepped forward, as quietly as possible.

 _BLAM._ His foot slammed into the side of a wooden table, left out from the poker game. An unconscious snort came from Charles's cot. Cringing, cursing in his mind, B.J. briefly hopped on one foot. It was a quiet hop. He still didn't want to wake Hawkeye. There was a chance his clumsiness hadn't—

"Beej?" said a voice slurred with sleep.

Wincing again, B.J. turned towards his roommate. Through the dimness of the night it was difficult to see much beyond the whites of the eyes peering back at him.

"Yeah, it's just me," he said quietly. "Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep."

"Will you still be here in the morning?" asked Hawkeye.

In the un-guardedness of still being half-asleep, B.J. heard, clearer than ever before, the true, heart-wrenching _hurt_ in Hawkeye's voice. He sounded physically wounded, as though B.J. had chopped off one of his arms and now he sought assurance that he wouldn't take the other as well.

B.J. squeezed his eyes shut.

But even as it broke his heart, so too did it fill him with hope. Because Sidney had been right. Hawkeye wanted to be friends again just as much as he did.

"Yeah, Hawk," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

Hawkeye's head moved up and down in a feeble nod. Then he turned over onto his side, slipping easily back into the Sandman's embrace.

As he moved more carefully through the tent, a smile warmed B.J.'s face. Did he feel guilt? Sure. Loads of it. But nothing could overpower his joy. His overwhelming feeling of rightness. This was it, the beginning of their reconciliation. Tomorrow they would talk. And tomorrow everything would be all right again.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: So, I'm posting this early! Hope nobody minds :) It's both because the next few days are going to be crazy busy for me and also because I want it to be a sort of present for somebody. (Well, for_ all _of you amazing readers, of course, but one in particular.) I really hope ya'll like this chapter. This one is especially close to my heart. Been written and ready to go for a while now, just waiting for me to get to this point in the story. Anyways... Here's hoping everybody enjoys it! Love to you all._

* * *

Tomorrow didn't come quickly enough. For _tonight_ still had plans of her own.

Less than three hours later, there was a creak as a fourth person entered the tent. Said person went straight to the bunk on the inside right of the door.

"Cap'n Pierce? Cap'n Pierce, sir, wake up." A hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "Hawkeye!"

"What, _what_?" Hawkeye mumbled, turning over on his bunk.

"Come on, sir, you gotta get up!" Radar insisted, shaking him again. "There's a phone call for you!"

Hawkeye gave an annoyed grumble. "If it's General MacArthur, tell him he's officially off my Christmas card list."

The other two occupants of the Swamp began to rouse, woken by the noise. B.J.'s mouth stretched in a wide yawn as he pushed himself onto his elbow.

"What's going on, are there wounded?" he asked, at the same moment that the light above Charles's cot flicked on, illuminating the tent. A duo of groans came from the other two doctors.

"Charles," said Hawkeye threateningly, "turn that light out before I turn _your_ lights out!"

"Then tell your furry little friend to ske _daddle_ , so that we might get some _sleep_!" Despite this, Charles did as he was asked, and the tent was again plunged into the darkness of a Korean night.

"Sir," said Radar, "believe me, you're gonna wanna take this."

"Tell them to call back when the weather is no longer cloudy with a chance of homicide!" Hawkeye snapped. He thrust himself back down on the bed, slamming his head deeper into the pillow.

"But Captain Pierce, sir—"

"I'm _sleeping_ , Radar!"

"Sir, it's Captain McIntyre, sir."

Hawkeye's eyes flashed open, not a hint of sleep left in them. Even B.J. felt suddenly wide awake, as though adrenaline had been injected into his system. He watched as Hawkeye snapped straight up on his bunk.

"Trapper?"

Radar nodded emphatically.

In a blur of movement, Hawkeye leapt from his cot and shoved past Radar, not bothering to grab his robe.

"Trap!" he shouted, banging through the door. Radar tripped along in his wake, clutching his nearly-fallen cap to his head.

Heart pounding, B.J. bounded to his feet and sprinted after his friend, careful to avoid the poker table this time. "Hawk!" he shouted, ramming through the door. Charles's plaintive "Shut _uuup_ " went ignored. The three men raced across the compound, Hawkeye in the lead.

"Trapper!" he yelled again. His long legs flew over the dusty ground. B.J. wasn't a hundred percent certain his feet ever truly touched down.

When B.J. burst into the clerk's office, Hawkeye was already lifting the receiver to his ear, a franticness in his movements that made deft surgeon's hands suddenly clumsy.

"You've only got about ten minutes, sirs," said Radar, visibly regretful at having to give this reminder.

Hawkeye nodded to show he'd heard, but his attention was all on the phone. "Hello, _hello_?" he called. "Trapper?"

" _Hawkeye?_ " said a familiar voice.

Hawkeye let out a jolly laugh. "Trapper John, you rapscallion! How did you—?"

" _Hawk, you gotta—_ " Trapper's voice cut off. It sounded like he was choking. Hawkeye froze, more still and silent than he'd ever been in his life.

" _You gotta help me_ ," Trapper whispered." _I didn't... I don't know what to do, I couldn't... I needed to, to talk to you, hear your voice. I need... This isn't right, Hawkeye, it's not how it's supposed to be._ "

"What isn't? What's happened? Trap?"

Fury saturating every syllable, Trapper yelled, " _It's not_ right _!_ "

Icy horror seeped through Hawkeye's veins. Never had he heard his friend sound so angry, and he had seen his friend through the times that ought to have been the worst in any man's life.

B.J.—watching, but not hearing—felt his own heart turn to granite. Hawkeye looked absolutely terrified. He moved a step closer to his friend, as though to grab his shoulder, but faltered to a stop. He and Radar shared a worried glance.

" _Not here! It's supposed to be_ safe _over here! I'm not in Korea anymore, damn it! The States are supposed to be... to be..._ "

"Trapper, come on, talk to me. We've only got ten minutes. What happened? Are you all right?"

" _It was an accident, a stupid..._ car _accident, and my—_ " His voice broke. A sob. " _My little_ girl _, Hawk. She's in surgery. Becky. My Becky. She—_ " The words stopped altogether as the doctor was made breathless by tears.

"Oh god," Hawkeye said quietly. He lowered his forehead into his hand. "Trapper, I'm so sorry."

More than ever before, Hawkeye _hated_ that he was in Korea, _hated_ that he was so far away from home. He hated it with a vengeance befitting the Greek gods. If he were there, if he were in the U.S. right that second, he could touch his friend, hold him, cradle him. Words weren't enough. Nothing Hawkeye said, not even just the sound of his voice could help. Not really. What Trapper needed was his friend's grip on his arms, clutching him round the shoulders, keeping him grounded.

Hawkeye clenched the phone tight. He could do _none_ of that because here he was, stuck in Korea, the godforsaken wasteland of hopes, dreams, and young men, thousands of miles away from the man who was like a brother to him. Unable to carry him through this tragedy.

"Listen to me, Trapper, _listen_ to me," he said, pressing as close to the phone as possible, as though that would somehow lessen the distance between them. "I'm here. I'm here, all right? I'm with you. It's going to be all right, Becky will be fine, I promise."

There was no answer, only more sobbing.

"Take a deep breath, Trapper. Come on, you can do it. Just breathe for me."

He heard the shaky sounds of the other man inhaling.

"Good, that's good. Keep doing that. Deep breath in, slow breath out."

Trapper continued to breathe, the sound continually interrupted by hiccupping cries.

"What about Louise and Kathy? Are they all right?"

" _Y-Yeah, they're... They're okay. Thank God._ "

They were quiet for a moment.

" _Hawk? You still there?_ "

"Yeah, Trap, I'm here. I'm still here."

" _Hawkeye?_ " His voice had reverted to a whisper.

"Yeah?"

" _It was..."_ His voice was even quieter now, so quiet Hawkeye was straining to make it out. " _It was my fault._ "

Hawkeye's jaw clenched. "Oh no. Don't you give me any of that, Trapper John. I don't want to hear any survivor's guilt from you. Becky is going to be _fine_."

" _No, you don't... You don't understand. I was... I was driving and I... I thought..._ " His breathing became choppy again, but he didn't weep. Whether or not Trapper was crying silently, Hawkeye couldn't tell. " _I-I-I thought I heard shelling and I swerved. I_ swerved _, Hawk, and I... My baby girl is in surgery, she might not make it through the night because I... I thought I was still in damn Korea!_ "

"Trap..." Hawkeye breathed. Nothing followed. What could he say? 'It's not your fault the war traumatized you'? Trapper would never see it that way. 'She'll be all right'? He'd already said that, twice, and it wouldn't be any more true the third time.

B.J. sucked in a breath. A lone tear had fallen from the corner of Hawk's eye. Silent and silver, like a streak of moonlight down his cheek. Hawkeye didn't notice; or, if he did, he did nothing about it.

"I'm here, Trapper," he said again. "I've got you. I'm holding you, can you feel me holding you? I'm holding tight, not gonna let you go."

" _God I wish you were_ ," said Trapper, his voice strangled. Hawkeye squeezed his eyes shut, pain and anger rolling through him in waves.

"I _am_ ," he said. "I'm with you to the very end. Always."

" _Always_ ," Trapper repeated quietly. The thought seemed to soothe him.

"Hey, you know the first thing I'm gonna do when I get back to the States?" Hawkeye swallowed, willing the lump in his chest to go away. "I'm gonna take Becky out for ice cream and make her laugh by smearing it all over your face."

A laugh, short and abrupt, as though it had been taken from Trapper by force. " _Not if I smear it over_ your _face_ first."

"It's a date."

Radar stepped forward, fidgeting. "Two minutes, Hawkeye."

Pure panic flashed through the man's eyes. He turned urgently back to the phone. "Trapper? Listen. We've only got a couple of minutes left. But I'm still there with you, you hear me? Every second. And I'm gonna write you. Twice a day every day, for the next week. And you write me, all right?"

" _All right_."

"Do you _promise_?"

" _I promise, Hawkeye, I promise._ " Trapper sounded tired now, exhausted. All cried out.

"It'll be over soon, Trapper, I swear. Just hang on. Becky will be fine. You have to believe that."

" _I want to. But... I don't know if I can._ "

"Then believe _me_. I'm telling you, she'll make it. Do you trust me?"

" _With my life. You know that._ "

"Then trust me. All you have to do is hang in there. Everything will be all right in the morning, you'll see."

" _Hawk... Hawkeye, I—_ "

There was a crackle, then silence. Hawkeye's muscles grew rigid.

"Trapper?" he said. " _Trap_?"

Nothing. Silence. No one moved, no one blinked, no one breathed.

Gaze blank, Hawkeye slowly, gently slid the receiver back into its box. He stood up, still staring into the empty air. The chair scraped against the floor.

"Cap'n Pierce?"

"Hawk?"

With a shout, Hawkeye swept the IN and OUT boxes into the air. Papers and folders went flying, scattering across the floor. He lashed out again, this time knocking the phone box off the desk.

"Oh _boy_!" cried Radar. He started for the phone, but B.J. grabbed him by the arms. There was a feverish look in Hawkeye's eyes as he looked for the next thing to ransack.

"Go on, Radar, go!" B.J. shouted. "Get out of here!"

He thrust the corporal towards the door. Radar stumbled a bit, but continued on the trajectory B.J. had set him on. With a scared glance at Hawkeye, he fell through the flimsy wooden door and into the camp beyond.

Hawkeye rushed towards Radar's cot.

"Hawkeye, _no_!" yelled B.J., diving after his friend.

He pulled Hawkeye's arms back from the steel bedframe before he could injure himself trying to flip it over. Hawkeye hollered—not words, only sounds of anger. B.J. held him tight. He wrapped his arms around Hawkeye's chest, holding his friend close, so close there was no space between them.

"Hawk."

The smaller man struggled against him.

"Hawk! It's okay to cry!"

Hawkeye's fighting stopped.

All of a sudden the tension drained from his muscles. He collapsed in a heap. B.J. fell to the ground with him, refusing to relinquish his hold. A full-throated sob tore itself from Hawkeye. B.J. held tighter. Sobs continued to rack his friend's body, his fingers digging into the fabric of B.J.'s shirt. B.J. clung to his crying friend for several minutes.

Finally Hawkeye's wails subsided. Tears still dripped from his eyes, but his breathing had returned to normal. He went boneless in B.J.'s arms, relying fully on his friend to keep him from hitting the floor, head tucked into the crook of B.J.'s neck as though he was too tired to hold it up himself.

Hawkeye's voice was ragged when he said, "It'll never end, Beej."

B.J. shifted so that one hand was still wrapped around Hawkeye's middle, while the other gently held Hawkeye's head against his shoulder. "What won't?" he asked.

"The war."

Blue eyes, usually so lively, were vacant as they stared at nothing. Not unlike many of the wounded who came through the compound. The ones who never had a chance of making it.

B.J. felt sick.

"It'll never end," Hawkeye repeated.

"Yes it will," B.J. said. "It can't go on forever."

"Not for us it won't," said Hawkeye numbly, matter-of-factly. "Oh, they may call it quits eventually. Pack us up and ship us home. But we'll be going in crates marked 'damaged goods' and in every crack and tear we'll carry the war home with us. There's no such thing as 'back to the way things were' or a life without the war." Hawkeye's eyes slid shut and he curled even more completely against B.J. "It never ends," he murmured. "It never ends."

A few minutes later Hawkeye fell asleep there. B.J. scooped the smaller man into his arms and carefully rose to his feet, grunting a little at the effort. Hawkeye wasn't _that_ much smaller, after all.

Even in sleep, Hawkeye sought out the comfort of his friend. His head pushed further into B.J.'s chest and the fingers of one hand tangled themselves in B.J.'s shirt. B.J. swelled with affection for the older man, a dance of butterflies in his stomach like he hadn't felt since high school.

Holding Hawkeye with one arm beneath the knees and the other supporting his back, B.J. carried his sleeping friend back to the Swamp. The door proved a challenge, but eventually he managed to open it with his foot and go inside without waking Hawkeye. B.J. was grateful to find Charles asleep. No one needed to witness Hawkeye's moment of vulnerability.

Tenderly he lowered Hawkeye onto his bed. But when he tried to pull away, the unconscious Hawkeye whimpered, his fingers clenching tighter in B.J.'s shirt. Taking Hawkeye's hand, he tried to gently pry up the fingers.

Hawkeye was having none of it. He whimpered even louder, rolling closer to the edge of the bed in an effort to stay nearer to the lifeboat he had tethered himself to.

Giving up, B.J. reached out and, quietly as he could, dragged Hawkeye's chair as close to the bed as possible. Hawkeye still clinging onto him, he settled down into it and prepared himself for a night spent without sleep.

Though, in this instance, he didn't much mind.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Thank you all so much for the support and reviews I've received so far. Here, here is a cookie for every single one of you! *hands out virtual cookies* By the way, my inbox is always open to any and all of you! :) Whether you're too shy to leave a comment publicly, or just feel like discussing M*A*S*H in general, or discussing ANYTHING in general for that matter, I am literally always happy to hear from ya'll._

* * *

Despite the chair's hard back and angle, B.J. felt a sense of ease that had alluded him for weeks. He was asleep before he ever realized he was drifting off.

In the morning, Charles was the first to awaken. After blinking away the sleep and groaning himself into an upright position, he glanced to his right. For a moment he was surprised. Then he was not.

With a smile that was obviously in appreciation of the nice weather and not for any sentimental reason, Charles got dressed for the day and left the tent. He was pulling the screen door shut behind him when a hurried corporal—Radar always seemed to be in a hurry—nearly collided with him.

"Oh sorry, Major," the boy said upon receiving a glare.

"Was there something you needed, Corporal?" Charles asked brusquely.

"Oh, I was just going to wake Captain Hunnicutt seeing as because he's Officer of the Day and all."

Charles's arm immediately shot out, blocking Radar from the door like a tree branch fallen across the road. Radar squinted up at him. Adopting a smile that looked as unnatural as it felt, Charles roped his arm about Radar's shoulders, turning the younger man around. He began to walk, pulling Radar with him.

Radar was even more bewildered by this. He shot a glance back over his shoulder, as though to ask the Swamp why his Uncle B.J. and Aunt Hawkeye weren't there to protect him from this strange assault upon his person.

"Not necessary, my little friend," Charles was saying. "I will be assuming Captain Hunnicutt's duties for the day."

"You, sir?" asked Radar, shocked. "But I thought you hated being Officer of the Day."

"Oh, believe you me," said Charles, smirking, "this favor did not come freely."

Radar was placated by this. Major Winchester performing a selfless act made little to no sense, but Major Winchester bartering favors in order to benefit _himself_ did.

And thus the Swamp and its two sleeping occupants were left undisturbed.

* * *

When B.J. opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was his clearness of head. An unusual state of being for him these days, as it was a direct symptom of a good night's sleep.

The second thing he noticed was sunlight shining through the tent. He was right, then. He'd fallen asleep. In fact, judging by the current level of activity in the camp and his own feelings of restfulness, he guessed he'd been asleep for quite some time.

The third thing he noticed was that Hawkeye's hand was no longer holding his shirt—but only because, as it seemed, sometime during the night B.J. had put his own hand on top of Hawkeye's. Their entwined hands now rested on the edge of Hawkeye's cot.

The fourth thing he noticed—following a quick, nervous glance across the tent—was that Charles was already up and gone. He wasn't sure whether to take this as a good or bad sign. Rather than fret uselessly, he pushed Charles from his mind. Turned his thoughts to Hawkeye instead.

Hawkeye.

He stared at the sleeping man. Lips slightly parted, air passing through them in little huffs. Chest moving forward and back with each breath. Black hair fallen over his lined forehead. Five o'clock—more like noon o'clock, in all likelihood—shadow on his cheeks. Eyelids shuttered over the most expressive blue eyes B.J. had ever known. Quiet. Peaceful. Child-like, even, in his innocence.

The urge to run his fingers through Hawkeye's graying hair came over him. Rather than suppress the feeling, B.J. acknowledged it, accepted it... and then did nothing.

Even without following through on the desire, B.J. felt good. He felt happy, content. More content than he had any right to be, a married draftee in Korea who had fallen in love with his best friend.

But he knew that this was the first step. There could be no more burying his feelings beneath denial and self-loathing. He'd tried that already, and the results had been... unmentionable.

He could not make his feelings known, of course, nor could he act on them. Which left only one other recourse. To live with them. To grant them a voice inside his head, yet keep his own lips shut.

It was painful, yes. Sad. There came a dull ache somewhere below his sternum when his fingers were not allowed to stroke and caress as they wished. B.J. had always been very expressive with his love towards Peg, both physically and verbally. To bottle up such instincts went against his very nature.

But it was manageable. And best of all, he felt truly, honest-to-god happy. Because now he could have his friend back, and now he would no longer be at war with himself. One war in his life was enough; it was insane to enlist himself in another.

He released Hawkeye's hand.

Perhaps sensing the change, Hawkeye chose that moment to rouse from slumber. He blinked blearily, a pout forming about his lips the moment he seemed to realize that he was waking up. A fond smile crinkled at the corners of B.J.'s eyes, but he said nothing.

After a few seconds, the light turned on upstairs. Hawkeye's blinks became more purposeful, more conscious. His gaze locked straight ahead. A wrinkle in his brow, his eyes trailed up B.J.'s figure from his khaki-clad knees, to his stomach, to his chest, and finally, his face. Hawkeye blinked again.

He sat up, feet planting themselves on the floor. "Did you spend the whole night there?" he asked, his voice roughened by sleep.

B.J. nodded. "Yeah."

Hawkeye's eyebrows went up. He couldn't seem to decide between confusion or amusement at this. Evidently choosing the latter, he smirked, rubbed a hand over his face, shook his head. "Why?" he snorted. "The rats finally chew a hole all the way through your mattress?"

B.J.'s answering smile was soft. "Because you didn't let go."

The confusion returned full force. _Huh?_ said Hawkeye's face. B.J. gave the barest of chuckles. With his own hand he touched his shirt where Hawkeye had mangled the garment only last night.

"You were holding onto my shirt," he said. "You wouldn't let go."

Hawkeye's eyes widened with mortification. "Oh god," he said. There was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, as one remembering a dream. "I did, didn't I? Beej, I'm... I'm sorry. God. You shouldn't have to put up with me." He dropped his head into his hands, rubbing at his forehead and what was probably a burgeoning headache. Either that or the gesture was merely a way to avoid eye contact, B.J. wasn't sure.

"Hey," B.J. said pointedly. Hawkeye's eyes shot up towards him, almost against his will it seemed. "I don't 'put up' with you. You're my friend. I _want_ to be the shoulder for you to cry on, or... the shirt for you to cling to." He swallowed, but he couldn't have freed himself from Hawk's intent gaze even if he _had_ wanted to be a coward and look away. He didn't want to. "And I... I know I haven't been doing a very good job of that lately, but I'm going to do better, Hawk. Starting right here, right now. If... that's okay with you."

The other man's eyes shone with something B.J. could only label as neediness. It was all he could do not to flinch. It didn't take a genius to realize that abandonment was one of Hawkeye's deepest phobias, and wasn't that exactly what B.J. had done? The abandonment may not have been physical, but it was an abandonment nonetheless.

He struggled not to ruminate too long on his utter cad-ness. Wallowing in self-hatred was part of what had brought them to this point in the first place.

Hawkeye licked his lips. He seemed to be thinking, debating whether or not to speak his mind. Finally he said, "I'm not too big a nuisance?" He shot a fearful glance towards his friend. B.J. could see just how much this admission of self-doubt was costing the older man.

He leaned closer. "You are the furthest thing from a nuisance," he said. "You're the best possible thing that could have happened to me when I stepped foot off that plane. You're the only thing keeping me alive over here, Hawk. And anything I said or did all had to do with me, not you. There is _nothing_ wrong with _you_. Understand?"

The frightened doe-eyes finally relaxed and blinked away. Hawkeye did understand. Better yet, he believed what B.J. was saying, and now his eyes were filled with an affection to mirror B.J.'s own.

Then there was a flash of something, and Hawkeye's lips twitched. Before B.J. had time to interpret the look, Hawkeye was shaking his head, saying,

"It wasn't just your fault, Beej. You can't take on all the blame. I haven't been a good friend to you either lately." He looked up again, and now the emotion was clear: guilt. "You were hurting and I should have seen it, I should have known. I should have paid closer attention."

"Hawk—" B.J. began to protest.

"No, wait," Hawkeye cut him off, raising a hand. "I need to tell you something. Something I should have told you a long time ago. I don't know why I didn't. I guess I just thought—" He stopped and shook his head, clearing away the cobwebs of his mind.

Then he looked straight into B.J.'s eyes.

"Finding Trapper was like finding a long lost brother."

"Hawk," B.J. interrupted again. His chest burned with embarrassment, that his petty insecurities had made Hawkeye feel the need to reassure him like this. "You don't have to—"

"No, listen," said Hawkeye. "I want you to know. I _need_ you to know."

Cheeks red, B.J. nevertheless gave an abrupt nod, his permission for the other man to continue. Hawkeye's stare did not relent. There was so much contained in those bright blue eyes, B.J. knew he would gladly spend the rest of his life staring into them, trying to fathom all their depths.

"But B.J., you..." said Hawkeye, as though he'd never been interrupted. Impossibly, his gaze had become even more intense. His hand gestured flailingly, as it sometimes did when he sought words to express something too deep for human language. Despite the vagueness of the gesture, it was undeniably graceful. "You're the other half of me I didn't even know was missing. You're my best friend—not just in Korea, in the whole _world_. And I should have told you that. I'm sorry that I didn't. I'm sorry I hurt you."

B.J. swallowed. He was dangerously close to tears. Well, that wouldn't do. _Fake it 'til you make it_ , he thought.

With a wry smile, B.J. said, "Well all right, then. What do you say we move on and forget any of this ever happened?"

Hawkeye pursed his lips in thought. "I say..." Suddenly he grinned, eyes a-sparkle. "Pour me a martini, Rick! I hear today is the start of a very good year."


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Not for the first time, I'm posting this early because I fear otherwise it will be posted late. If you're forgetful and you know it, clap your hands! *claps hands* Seriously, if you all learn anything about me by the time this story is done, it will be that I am a very forgetful person, but, that being so, I've learned to somewhat compensate for it over the years._

 _Just to let ya'll know, this story is definitely not over yet. There are a couple chapters yet to come that still take place during the war, and then we'll delve into a little post-war as well. Not sure how many chapters we're talking exactly, but the point is, we're not done yet! I hope ya'll are still hanging in there with me. Thank you so much to each and every one of my lovely reviewers._

* * *

Lunch was in full swing by the time Hawkeye and B.J. entered the mess tent for their first meal of the day. Chatter did not die out when they walked in, but every pair of eyes turned their way, questioning. The fact that Hawkeye and B.J. had arrived simultaneously was suggestive, but the two men were not engaged in any sort of conversation so no one could tell whether this indicated a reconciliation or if it was merely a coincidence of timing.

Hawkeye slipped into line behind Father Mulcahy. B.J. was only a few steps behind.

"Ah! Good morning, Hawkeye," Mulcahy said as he picked up a metal tray. Then he paused. "Well. Afternoon now, I suppose." There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Overslept a tad, did we?"

"My rooster's on leave in Tokyo," Hawkeye quipped.

"Ho ho!" Mulcahy's head tilted back with laughter. He shook his head. "Oh, Hawkeye. You do say the most amusing things."

Hawkeye grinned—pleased, as always, to have elicited a laugh from his ordained friend. "It's easy to be amusing when I've got you for a muse, Father," he said flirtatiously. Still shaking his head, Mulcahy nonetheless chuckled at the word play.

By this time, Father Mulcahy's tray was full with the swill referred to in common parlance as 'food.'

"Well in that case," he said. "If you'll excuse me, I believe I'll take a seat with a few of my fellow goddesses."

"Heartbreaker."

With a wink, Mulcahy took his lunch and settled himself at a table with Margaret, Radar, and Klinger, the last of whom was dressed in a gown of rather daring floral design. Hawkeye laughed to himself, unable now _not_ to picture the odd little ensemble as the Greek Muses. All wrapped in togas, hair styled in long waves, each playing a harp or flute. It was quite an image to behold, even if it was only in his imagination. He rather purposefully ignored the stare Major Houlihan was shooting in his and B.J.'s direction.

A distasteful _slorp_ brought Hawkeye back to reality. He stared in disgust at the food being piled onto his tray.

"Is this _sincere_ ly the best that the army can give us?" he asked. Igor, more than used to Hawkeye's rants, ignored him. "It ought to be a _sin_ to force this garbage on anything with a pulse!"

A voice piped up beside him, for the first time since their entrance.

"If it doesn't seem _fair_ to you, you can always say _farewell_ to the army," B.J. said, his voice utterly devoid of feeling. Hawkeye turned to glare at him. B.J. met the look with a blank one of his own. "There's nothing stopping you from leaving."

"Nothing apart from the men with big guns, you mean," Hawkeye said. By this point, there was no denying the cold hostility being exchanged between them. "Pardon me for having my _apprehensions_ about deserting."

A hush fell over the crowd. All eyes had returned to the two captains. The whole mess tent seemed to be holding its breath, the uneasiness of everyone present nearly a palpable sensation.

"You could leave _while one single star shines above_ , sneak out right under their noses," B.J. shot back, his expression grown hard, mask of indifference gone. "It really isn't that hard to _puzzle_ out."

Hawkeye sneered. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a flop of platinum blonde hair on the move.

"Now you're not even making sense! It really _mystifies_ me the lengths you'll go just to make an ass of yourself."

B.J. clenched his jaw. "Allow me to be the first to bid you _goodbye,_ Captain Pierce."

"Yeah? Well _good_. I would hate to save such a _love_ ly adieu for last."

"Now that—is—e—nough!"

Hawkeye and B.J. spun about and found themselves face-to-face with Major Margaret Houlihan, hands on her hips, wearing one of her patented no-nonsense expressions. Their eyebrows shot up simultaneously.

"I believe I speak for the entire unit when I say that I have had more than enough of this... this preposterous feud," Margaret said. Two pairs of eyes blinked innocently at her. "I command you to resolve things at once! If you don't, I'll... I'll have no choice but to recommend you both for transfer."

A double dose of shock greeted this statement. Margaret smirked her triumph.

"Margaret, you can't be serious," said B.J., stunned.

"Serious as the plague, _bucko_ ," was her smug response. "Not so funny when that hypothetical goodbye of yours isn't so hypothetical anymore, is it?" She crossed her arms. "So? What will it be, Captains? Make up, or _break_ up?"

Hawkeye and B.J. shot a glance at one another. In another time and place, they might have been mistaken for schoolboys whose headmaster was forcing them to shake hands after having brawled in the cafeteria.

With a purposeful sigh, Hawkeye said, "All right, all right. You win, Margaret." He steeled himself and looked directly up into B.J.'s eyes. B.J. met his gaze without so much as a flinch, but his jaw was similarly locked into place, his back equally stiff with discomfort.

"I'd be willing to forget this whole thing, if B.J. will answer just one question for me," Hawkeye said.

B.J.'s eyes narrowed in challenge. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"I want to know..." Hawkeye's mouth dropped open. He took a breath. Then,

" _How can there be any—_

" _Sin in sincere,_ " he and B.J. sang together, their arms sliding around one another's shoulders in a fluid motion. They stared past Margaret, exaggerated drama on both countenances as they crooned the words of the song.

" _Where is the good in goodbye?_ " they continued. B.J. sang harmony to Hawk's melody. They turned to look at one another in the exact same moment, as though they'd practiced the move a hundred times. " _Your apprehensions confuse me, dear. Puzzle and mystify_."

" _Mystify_ ," B.J. echoed.

Facing front once again, they paid no heed to the multitude of open mouths around them. Especially not the one a mere foot away.

" _Tell me what can be fair in farewell, dear, while one single star shines above. How can there be any sin in sincere? Aren't we sincerely in love?_ " Again they looked to one another. " _Oh, we're in love!_ "

Silence consumed the mess tent. Hawkeye and B.J. turned back towards Margaret with bright grins. Anyone could see how enormously pleased with themselves they were.

Margaret floundered. "You—You—"

Before either had a chance to speak, she whacked Hawkeye's left arm.

He squawked. He tried to shy away from the assault, but Margaret would not let up. Punctuating her words with further slaps, she said, "You were putting me on— _all_ of us!—the whole time! How—You—Pierce, you are unbelievable! I ought to..."

She stopped, whirling on B.J. His eyes grew wide.

"And you!" she exclaimed. B.J.'s right arm was the predictable next victim to her wrath. "You are as bad as he is!"

"Ah! Margaret!" he protested, cringing from her blows. "Surgeon! Need—arms!"

Huffing, Margaret finally ceased her attack. She planted her hands back on her hips, a scathing glare still directed at her two friends. Hawkeye's answering smile was amused, but also apologetic.

"We're sorry, Margaret," he said, heartfelt. "We couldn't resist! I mean, come on. When were we ever gonna get another chance like that?"

"How long exactly has this farce been going on?" she demanded.

Hawkeye's smile softened, but it was B.J. who answered.

"Only this little musical interlude," he assured her. "The rest of it was real. We aren't _that_ cruel."

"Hmph," was Margaret's obviously doubtful response. Nevertheless, she seemed calmer at that. "Then when did you two...?" _Make amends_ hung unspoken in the air.

"Last night," said Hawkeye, at the same time B.J. said, "This morning."

They looked at one another.

Hawkeye shrugged. "Same thing, more or less."

"So you two are really all right, then?" asked Margaret.

The doctors smiled at her, a genuinely happy sheen in both sets of blue eyes.

"Yeah," said Hawkeye. "We're really all right."

"Good," she said.

Then she reached forward and upturned their lunch trays, spilling the food all down their fronts. Some of her earlier steel, and smugness, had returned. "And _that's_ for your little prank!"

Hoots of laughter spread throughout the tent as Hawkeye and B.J. gawped, horrified, down at the muck that coated their shirts.

Then their eyes flashed upwards, meeting with a devilish spark.

Both men grabbed a fistful of grub from the buffet table behind them. Margaret shrieked as her shirt was instantly covered in slimy, gooey slop. Hawkeye and B.J. beamed at each other and at their female friend.

The subsequent food fight left no survivors. And while such childish behavior would usually have resulted in a reprimand from Colonel Potter, the Colonel decided in this instance to let the incident go unpunished.

After all, some things were more important than military discipline. A happy, reunited Pierce-Hunnicutt duo was one such thing.

* * *

Everything returned to normal then, as though the past several weeks had been nothing more than a mass hallucination. The 4077th experienced a collective case of whiplash at the sudden turnaround in the relationship between Captain B.J. Hunnicutt and Captain Hawkeye Pierce. None could account for the change—and perhaps, if there were a couple who could, they knew better than to speak on the subject—but all were relieved by it. Life in Korea returned to the Hell it had been, which was a good deal better than the Hell it had _become_ while B.J. and Hawkeye, the 4077ths resident masters of levity, were on the outs.

All was well.

True to his word, Hawkeye spent nearly all his free time that week writing letters to Trapper. Upon hearing the tragic news, many of those who had known Trapper, and even a few who hadn't—B.J. notably included—wrote their own letters of sympathy and support to the former Captain.

One and a half weeks later, Trapper's first letter arrived.

Hawkeye did not share this letter with anyone, and B.J. ran subtle interference to stop those who might have tried to pry into its contents. He knew without needing to be told that this letter was personal, private, meant for Hawkeye and Hawkeye alone. All Hawkeye ever said on the subject was, "He wrote it immediately after our phone call."

The next day brought the second letter, and with it the news everyone had been waiting for.

When Hawkeye ripped into the envelope, B.J. stood just beside him, waiting to lend whatever was needed, be it a shoulder to cry on or a shirt to cling to. Anything. Everything.

The world stopped breathing as Hawkeye's eyes raced over the first sentence.

Then he beamed. With a gay laugh he threw himself on B.J., clutching him in a somewhat volatile, but utterly gleeful hug. B.J. let out a few laughs of his own, his grin equally sincere as he returned Hawkeye's embrace.

Becky was out of the woods. She was going to be all right. According to Trapper, she would have to use a wheelchair for a short time, but she would soon upgrade to crutches, and in the not too distant future she would be walking on her own once again. No lasting damage.

It was a true sight to see when Hawkeye delivered the news later that day in the mess tent. Whoops and hollers and tearful hugs. A camp-wide display of profound relief and joy, the likes of which had never touched their unit before.

B.J., perhaps alone of all his compatriots, perceived the phenomenon for what it was. When living in a war zone, one had to become insensate to the pain, suffering, and death of others, even of children. But buried beneath those necessary, hardened exteriors, everyone still carried with them the gentler sensibilities of their pre-Korea lives.

When the first news about Becky had come, the camp latched onto her case as a conduit for those deeper feelings. They put all their hopes and desires into her recovery. Though none had ever known the little girl—never seen her, never operated on her—her death would have been a blow unlike any the 4077th had ever faced. Her survival, on the other hand, was exactly the thing they needed to keep their hope alive. Hope for a better future, hope for a safe return home. Hope for the lives of every man, woman, and child living in Korea.

B.J. saw and understood this better than anyone else did. And in that moment, full of smiles and love for their fellow servicemen and women, he felt that everyone was more beautiful than they had ever been before.

None more so than Hawkeye. B.J. could hardly tear his eyes away. There was a lightness of spirit Hawkeye exuded that day which B.J. had never seen before in his cynical, jaded friend. It took ten years off of his face, a stark reminder that Benjamin Franklin Pierce was actually a much younger man than he often seemed.

There was no better word to describe its effect than _stunning_.

* * *

For the remainder of the war, the relationship between Hawkeye and B.J. was what it had been before their fight. To outsiders, there was no difference whatsoever between the 'before' and 'after'.

So if the number of casual touches between the two men minimally decreased, only Hawkeye and B.J. noticed. Neither mentioned it.

And if the number of lovelorn glances Hawkeye received when he wasn't looking significantly _increased_ , well... Only B.J. noticed that.

And he never, ever mentioned it.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: Oh man. Well, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I worked very hard to finish it in time! (I sort of made it. Close, anyways.) I'm sorry I haven't replied to all of your reviews yet! I've been a little under the weather this past week, so I've been falling a bit behind with some things._

 _Fair warning, there is little to no chance that I will update next week. This is probably the last regular update you'll have. I'm going to do my best not to lag too far behind, but I can't really make any promises. Anyways, thank you so much for all your kind reviews and support. They are my life blood, my fuel to keep going._

* * *

Before the final days of the war, there only ever came one incident that again shook the foundation of their friendship, dredging forth things left unresolved.

A little more than a month had passed since their reconciliation. As all months in Korea, this one was full of its trials and tribulations. The most recent being Radar's departure from the 4077th.

B.J. knew that he and Hawkeye could never have weathered this blow without one another. To that end, he thanked God that their estrangement had ended no later than it had.

Of all of them, Hawkeye took Radar's leaving the hardest. No one needed to ask why. Hoping to get his Chief Surgeon fighting fit again, Colonel Potter arranged for Captains Pierce and Hunnicutt to share a three-day R&R in Seoul.

B.J. was glad to see that the three days truly did Hawkeye good. With B.J. for company, Hawkeye had reason not to lose himself to drunkenness. Which was not to say he did not drink; they both did, copiously. But no more than was their norm. Whereas, had Hawkeye taken the trip alone, B.J. felt sure his friend would have wallowed three days long at the bottom of a bottle.

Instead, three near-perfect days went by in a blink. After many a shenanigan and countless laughs, the two men found themselves facing their last night in the city.

Their hotel room was dark. A broken lamp meant that the only light filtered in through the window. The lights of the moon, the stars, and Korean civilization. They packed wordlessly, the space between their beds a quiet no man's land.

Hawkeye was the one to break it.

"We should do this again sometime."

"Maybe if we get Potter drunk enough, he'll even give us passes sooner than a year from now," said B.J.

"No, I mean in the States."

Silence returned. Thick, heavy, and awkward with meaning.

B.J. stopped packing and looked up at his friend. At first his gaze went unreturned, but then, feeling B.J.'s eyes on him, Hawkeye looked up as well.

Blue shadows gathered in the crags of his face, making him a ghostly figure. But his expression was hard, showing a clear determination not to back down, no matter what. One half-expected to hear a cry of, "Give me liberty or give me death!" when faced with such an expression. But hidden beneath, in the dark patches of his face illuminated only intermittingly by headlights outside the window, fear flickered.

"Will we?" asked Hawkeye. "See each other, I mean. After the war."

"I gave you my word, didn't I?"

"Lots of things have changed since then."

"You're right," B.J. said. "You mean even more to me now than you did then."

The older man swallowed, and dropped his gaze away.

"Hawk," B.J. continued. "If you think there's any chance I'm living out the rest of my life without you, then I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you're off your gourd."

"Simple as that, huh?"

"Simple as that. Unless _you're_ trying to give _me_ the boot."

"No!" The answer was immediate and forceful. Collecting himself, Hawkeye cleared his throat. His fingernails picked at the bedspread. "That's not... I don't want that."

"Okay then."

B.J. resumed packing. Hawkeye soon followed suit. This time the quiet lingered until both had laid down to go to sleep.

Barely a minute passed before,

"Hey, Beej?"

"Yeah?"

"Promise me something."

Sheets rustled as B.J. turned over onto his side, facing his friend's bed. Now that they'd lowered the blinds over the window, it was impossible to make out more than the shape of Hawkeye's body. "Okay, I promise."

The dark shape shifted as Hawkeye let out a surprised laugh. B.J. breathed deep, a warm tickle inside his chest. Already he'd grown used to feeling this way in response to Hawkeye. Hawkeye's smile, Hawkeye's laugh. Even Hawkeye's rare but endearing moments of vulnerability. B.J. was glad for the darkness; this way he did not have to worry as he allowed himself to stare at Hawkeye with unbridled adoration.

"Don't you want to know what you're promising first?" the man teased.

The sheets rustled again as B.J. shrugged. "Don't need to. But sure, go ahead."

There was a quiet pause. After a few seconds, Hawkeye said,

"Promise... Promise you won't leave me. Like Trapper did. And... And Radar. I just don't think I can... _be_ here without you."

B.J.'s response was instinctive, but also quite impossible to execute given the space between them. After a moment of consideration, he gave in to the impulse.

He threw back the cover and padded across the cold floor. Hawkeye jerked upward, obviously taken by surprise.

"B.J.?"

B.J. climbed into the bed. Sitting cross-legged, facing his friend, he could now do what he'd instinctively wanted to do.

He grabbed Hawkeye's hand. He squeezed hard, as though to prove his own solidity, his own realness. But his eyes were only on Hawkeye's. This near to one another, the darkness could not keep them from each other's sights. Though the blue color was lost to him, B.J. could see the widening of surprise, and the glimmer of some deeper emotion. Hope, possibly, or—

B.J. shook those thoughts aside. There were plenty of things that look could mean. No use in guesswork. Instead he said,

"You don't need to worry about that. I'm not going to leave you. You've been here longer than I have, remember? You'll get your discharge papers long before I do."

"You never know," Hawkeye said hoarsely. "You never know what'll happen. I didn't think Radar would be going home before me either."

"Nothing is going to happen. And I'm not going to leave you alone over here, all right? I promise." _They'd have to kill me first_. This thought he kept to himself. Bringing up the—unfortunately very real, if unlikely—possibility of his death would only upset Hawkeye further.

Hawkeye said nothing in reply, only squeezed B.J.'s hand back even harder. For a man usually so full of words that he could hardly stop them from pouring out of his mouth, this was a testament to how deeply B.J.'s promise had affected him. Such simple, physical gestures were how Hawkeye expressed himself when words ceased to be adequate. A rare occasion for someone who rarely had any trouble waxing poetic for hours on end.

B.J. did nothing to quell his resulting rush of affection.

* * *

" _Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho_!" An army jeep carrying two hollering surgeons zoomed down the dusty road. " _It's off to work we go_!"

Two pairs of lips puckered into small 'o's and tuneful whistles split the air. B.J. knocked his shoulder companionably against Hawkeye's, the driver of their jeep.

" _Heigh-ho! Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, heigh-ho_!"

They paused.

"What comes after that?" Hawkeye asked, raising his voice to be heard over the wind.

"I don't know. Something about dig dig digging the whole day through?"

"Little help _you_ are, Grumpy."

"More help than _you_ , Sneezy."

Hawkeye gasped. "Sneezy? _Sneezy_? Are you calling me Ferret-Face?"

"Fine, which dwarf would you _like_ to be, then? Dopey's already taken." He and Hawkeye grinned, both picturing an annoyed Margaret Houlihan. "Though I doubt she'd mind relinquishing the title."

"How about Sleepy?" said Hawkeye. Much of the jest had gone out of his voice. "I've been sleepy since I got here."

Silence met this statement. B.J. felt a pang in his chest. But what could he say? How did one express their condolences for more than two years of sleep lost, stolen by a war? He was in the same boat as Hawkeye, after all, and knew there was nothing anyone could say to make it better.

"I was a miner for a while," he said after a moment, harkening back to their rendition of the Disney song. "Before I became a surgeon."

Hawkeye shot him a look. "Oh really?" he said, clearly on the alert for a verbal trap of some kind. Not spotting it—but no less convinced of its existence—he had no choice but to carry the conversation forward. "So what happened?"

"I turned eighteen."

Hawkeye removed one hand from the steering wheel so he could shove B.J. in retaliation for the pun. B.J. laughed as he fell against the side of the jeep. Righting himself, he grinned at his friend. Hawkeye shook his head in apparent disapproval, even as a smile spread across his cheeks.

Then, with an ear-splitting boom and a vicious shake of the earth, a shell exploded on the road in front of them. Hawkeye swore. Both men leaned down, tucking themselves as far into the center of the vehicle as possible. Hawkeye stepped on the gas and swerved around the spot where the shell had fallen.

A second shell hit, this one behind them. The jeep bounced but continued to fly down the road, Hawkeye doing his best to maneuver evasively.

The third shell struck. This time the explosive hit the road only a few feet from their jeep, and before either of them knew it, they were skidding on a flat left-front tire. B.J. clutched at the seat and the jeep door to steady himself as they careened forward at an unsafe speed. Hawkeye yanked the wheel back and forth. He was shouting something, but B.J. didn't have the wherewithal to understand his words before the jeep overturned, and the world crashed around him.

B.J. flew through the air. He hit the ground hard, rolling several feet before coming to a stop. For a moment, he lay still. There was a ringing in his ears and the breath had been knocked out of him upon impact. Every single muscle in his body was screaming.

First planting one foot, and then the other, he shoved himself up. He stumbled slightly, but managed to stay vertical. Good. Nothing broken then. Only bruised.

He coughed through the dust. He peered at the toppled hunk of metal in front of him. Another shell hit the road, not far from the fallen jeep. B.J.'s legs trembled and he instinctively ducked, throwing his arms up above his head.

"Hawkeye?" he shouted. He spun in a circle, but couldn't see his friend. "Hawkeye!"

A cough answered him. Then a scraping sound. A pair of hands appeared from behind the jeep, followed by forearms dragging along the ground.

B.J.'s heart gave a terrified _THUMP_. No further provocation was needed to set his imagination on fire. Images flooded his mind, all the boys he'd seen come in with crushed legs, bloody humps where limbs had once been. He saw the strange negative space of an amputated leg. He saw blood and veins and wheelchairs, and Hawkeye running, jumping, wiggling his toes in Frank's face, dancing, waltzing, dipping...

All this in less than a second. Then he was sprinting, his own long legs bridging the gap between them before the second was over.

He slid to a halt just in time to see Hawkeye pull himself up onto his knees, then leverage himself onto his feet.

"I'm all right!" Hawkeye said, coughing. "I'm all right."

Rather than bask in the relief that had him near tears, B.J. forced himself to remain level-headed. A task made easier by the arrival of a fifth shell. The ground shook, throwing Hawkeye forward into him. There was a flurry of hands grasping at one another, pulling, clutching, and then they were running together, off the road, into the grass and towards the trees, never for a second losing contact. At the exact same moment, they flung themselves to the ground for cover.

B.J.'s head snapped back up. He'd seen something... Not a foxhole, which would have been ideal, but there had been _some_ thing...

His gaze found it again. He scrambled back onto his feet as another shell vibrated the world. Grabbing at Hawkeye's jacket, he said, "Hawkeye, come on! Come on!"

Hawkeye followed immediately, allowing himself to be pulled forward, but that didn't stop him from yelling, "Beej, what are you _doing_? We need to get—"

The sight of the cave ahead brought him up short. B.J. was yanked to a halt, fingers still fisted in his friend's jacket. Hawkeye shook his head, true fear in his eyes.

"Oh no. No no no."

"We don't have a choice," B.J. shouted. "We need to take shelter!"

"B.J., I _can't_!"

Another hit, this time falling between them and the road. B.J. felt the strain in both his and Hawkeye's arms as they held tight to keep one another standing.

A sliver of sense returned to Hawkeye's fevered gaze. He released his grip on B.J., using the momentum to shove his friend forward.

"Go on! Go! There's no use in us both dying!"

B.J. didn't move. "Nope," he said matter-of-factly. Hawkeye gaped at him. "Sorry, Hawk. It's an all or nothing deal with us. We go home together or not at all. I'm not leaving you out here."

Hawkeye stared wide-eyed at him. Before he could speak, B.J. said, "Do you trust me?"

Hawkeye blinked.

"Hawk, do you trust me?" B.J. repeated fervently.

Mouth snapping closed, Hawkeye nodded. B.J. extended his right hand towards him.

"Take my hand."

Hawkeye grabbed the hand without a second thought, never breaking eye contact. B.J. stepped closer to his friend. He placed his left hand over Hawk's eyes, blinding him. Then, one step at a time, he began to walk backward, pulling the other man with him. Hawkeye stumbled forward obediently.

"Just focus on me," B.J. said. "Only on me."

Another shell struck. Closer to the road, thankfully, but Hawkeye tightened a death grip on B.J.'s hand in response.

"Nothing but me, Hawkeye. Focus on my voice, only my voice, nothing else." His boots scuffed against dirt and twigs as he moved them backwards as quickly as he could. They were nearing the cave mouth now. He kept up a constant stream of speech. They were close enough to each other that B.J. could speak quietly, his voice barely more than a murmur in Hawkeye's ear. "It's just you and me, Hawk. You and me. I've got you."

A shadow fell over them as they passed inside the cave. The air grew colder, damper. Hawkeye may have been without his sight, but he could feel the change in atmosphere sure enough. He tensed, a colt ready to bolt.

"Come on," B.J. said. "We're almost there. I'm not going to leave you, all right? So you can't leave me. Stay with me, Hawk, come on, please."

Hawkeye whimpered, breaking off a piece of B.J.'s heart. He swelled with pride when Hawkeye kept walking forward. The cave rumbled and rattled around them as another shell hit. B.J. brought them to a stop once he felt they were a reasonable distance from the entryway. Hawkeye was sweating. Shaking. Shells or no shells, B.J. knew it was only a matter of time before Hawkeye broke and made a run for it. And given the tremors already overtaking his friend's body, he was willing to bet on sooner rather than later.

His heart pounded fearfully. He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let claustrophobia drive his friend away from relative safety and back into the path of incoming bombs. He needed to do something, _anything_ , and quickly.

Armed with nothing but instinct and a half-formed plan, he said, "Keep your focus on me, Hawk. Nothing's gonna happen to you, I promise. I'm gonna take my hand away now, but I need you to keep your eyes closed, okay? Can you do that?"

Hawkeye's head bounced, half-nod half-tremble.

He let go of Hawkeye's hand and removed his other hand from Hawkeye's face. The older man had his eyes squeezed shut as tightly as possible. Before Hawkeye could even get out a full whimper, B.J. reached out and pressed his thumbs against his forehead. They were standing so close now, they were practically breathing the same air. He began to trace the lines of Hawkeye's face. A shell exploded somewhere beyond the cave.

"Stay focused on me," B.J. murmured as he stroked. His thumbs traveled the wrinkles of Hawkeye's forehead. They smoothed down past his eyebrows, across the sweep of his cheekbones, rubbing every line, every crease, kneading them like dough. "I'm right here. It's just you and me, Hawkeye. Just me and you. Focus on that." The touch was too harsh to be a massage, but not strong enough to hurt. Just enough to steady Hawkeye, to ground him in the moment, with B.J. "Nothing else matters. Nothing else exists. Just me... and you."

Incredibly, it seemed to be working. Hawkeye's eyes remained closed and his breaths began to even out, settling deeper and deeper inside his chest. His body had gone nearly still.

Soon B.J. began to utilize his other fingers as well. With his middle fingers he rubbed soothing circles on Hawkeye's brow. His pointer fingers traced the edges of a long nose. His pinky fingers brushed the beginnings of crow's feet by a young man's eyes.

Without intending to, what had begun as clinical touches slowly became softer, gentler, until they were more like caresses. B.J. tried to think, to remember what he was supposed to be doing, but he couldn't. His heart was pounding again, each beat ringing in his eardrums, so loud that he could not reestablish communication with his brain. This time he knew that fear had nothing to do with it. He could feel each and every breath that entered his lungs, and he found that his eyes had become utterly fixated on his own ministrations. On the relaxed countenance beneath his fingertips. The closed eyelids and slackened jaw. Offered up to him so trustingly.

He noticed when Hawkeye's chest began to move up and down at a quicker pace again. However, just as he knew that he himself was untouched by fear, so too did he know that it was not claustrophobia causing his friend to react that way. No. The difference was easy to tell, and it only made his own heart beat that much faster.

He swallowed. His fingers continued to trace. No longer did he have a thought of using touch to calm Hawkeye's fear. He was consumed by the heat in his breast, the feel of soft skin beneath his fingertips. The face he loved so dearly, that he had fantasized many times over about caressing as a lover might. As he was now.

His hands began to tremble, fluttering hesitantly over the planes of Hawkeye's face. Had anyone stumbled upon them in this moment, they might have thought that B.J. was attempting to memorize every detail of the other man's face.

They would have been wrong. B.J. already knew them all.

Cheeks, nose, forehead. Chin. Dare he... B.J.'s hands shook even more violently as he reached towards a full lower lip.

Hawkeye's breath hitched when B.J.'s finger made contact. B.J. forced himself to stay outwardly calm as he watched his thumb trail across the pink, chapped flesh.

Catching movement in his periphery, B.J.'s eyes flashed upwards. Wide blue eyes stared back at him in something resembling shock. B.J. knew that 'shock' wasn't the proper word for the emotion he was reading there, but his brain was too far removed from him in the current moment to be of any use.

Hawkeye could not seem to tear his gaze away. His chest heaved up and down, as frantic as though he'd just run a mile. His eyes flicked downwards, lighting on B.J.'s lips before snapping back up again.

The air between them tingled. B.J.'s mouth fell open, goosebumps racing up and down his arms. He licked his lips. Hawk's eyes were pulled towards the movement, and his own lips parted further.

B.J. sucked in a purposeful breath. "Hawk..." he said scratchily. _Ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum_.

Hawkeye didn't move his gaze from B.J.'s mouth. "Yeah?"

"The shelling stopped."

The world remained frozen a second longer. Then Hawkeye blinked, and blinked again. He looked up. He met B.J.'s gaze before turning his head to the side, an ear cocked to listen. B.J. inhaled, letting the air fill his lungs and slow his racing heartbeat.

When Hawkeye indeed found himself met by silence, he said, "You're right. They're gone."

"You okay?"

Hawkeye wrenched his gaze back around. He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm... I'm okay. B.J., I'm... You..."

Heedless of his efforts to the contrary, B.J.'s heart set forth into another gallop.

Hawkeye shook his head mutely. Finally he said, "Thank you. What you did, it... it worked. Everything else went away." He offered a smile. It was warped around the edges, though by what, B.J. couldn't quite tell. Sadness? Shame? Regret? "You saved me. You're... You're a good friend, Beej."

"Still," said B.J., determined to ignore the increased pounding of his heart against his ribcage. "We should probably get you out of here."

Hawkeye nodded his relief at the suggestion.

"Come on." He reached out to grab Hawkeye's jacket. Then let his hand fall limply at his side. He shoved the hand into a trouser pocket. "Let's go home before any more overeager North Koreans try to stop us."

Neither one questioned his use of the word 'home' in reference to the 4077th. And neither of them ever mentioned the incident in the cave after they got there.


	16. Stateside Interlude

_A/N: Erm. So... I hope I didn't get anyone's hopes up too high by posting this. It's not really a chapter, per say. More of a... Well, let's call it an 'interlude.' This chapter takes place back in the States, shortly after the car accident. It was just an idea knocking around in my brain, so I decided to write it up. It's gonna take me a little while longer to finish the next_ real _chapter for the story, so I thought maybe some of ya'll would like reading this side story in the meantime._

 _Cheers! I love each and every one of you._

* * *

Trapper stared at the hospital bed beside him with the same dead gaze he'd worn for hours. Becky was wrapped in the white sheets like the little angel she was, asleep.

Weariness had made a home in his body. The ache in his back and bottom no longer registered in his brain. He knew he should just be happy; and he was! Especially when Louise and Kathy were with him. With them around it was easier to feel the appropriate joy over Becky's expected recovery.

But they weren't here now, Louise having taken Kathy out for lunch with her maternal grandmother. And rather than the joy he _ought_ to be feeling, Trapper felt... Grief. Guilt. Despair. A small, sharp pain in his gut—not unlike the hernia that _hadn't_ earned him a plane ticket home—was what greeted him every time he looked at his daughter. So... every single second, and then some.

Getting through to Hawkeye on the phone had been a blessing, and he _was_ comforted knowing that even now his friend was writing him a plethora of letters—none of which had arrived yet, due to the inevitable lag time of sending mail to and from a warzone across the sea—but Trapper needed something more. Something he couldn't have, and never would.

A lack of culpability in what had happened, and the surety that nothing like it would ever happen again.

He'd already given up driving cold turkey. Louise, sweet, darling Louise, had looked at him with such tenderness when he put the car keys into her hand with an air of finality. But she had known better than to argue. She had merely brushed a thumb across his cheek—Her gentle touch, still a revelation after all the time he'd spent without it in Korea, most certainly did _not_ make him cry. It _didn't_.—and then angled his head down to kiss his forehead.

But what if one of his nightmares caused him to lash out and hurt Louise? Or what if Kathy needed her father's comfort during a thunderstorm, but he was too busy cowering behind the couch, praying for the North Koreans to stop dropping bombs?

With a sigh, Trapper rubbed at the dark circles under his eyes. These too had become a permanent fixture over the last few days. The last few years, if he was being honest.

Just as he grabbed a pen and paper to write another letter to Hawkeye, there was a noise at the door. His tired eyes dragged upwards. He expected to see a nurse, come to check on Becky or leave a tray of lunch. (Trapper had once considered hospital food inedible. Korea had forced him to reevaluate that opinion. Even the most unappetizing hospital tray now seemed a luxury.)

What he found instead was a nervous, twitchy, chinless man.

His shock at the unexpected arrival was matched only by the shock of discovering that his gut reaction was not one of _disgust_ but one of _home_.

Frank Burns, M.D. lingered by the doorway, fidgeting with the bouquet of flowers in his hands.

"McIntyre," he said with a nod of greeting. He sounded exactly as uncomfortable as he looked.

"Burns," Trapper returned. "What are you doing here?" _Probably in need of a loan this time,_ he thought.

As though this had been an invitation to enter, Frank took quick steps into the room, going to the opposite side of Becky's bed. He stared down at the girl's sleeping countenance, his brow puckered. He placed the bouquet awkwardly on the table beside her. Then, hands stuck into his trouser pockets, he glanced up at his former tent-mate.

"You look awful," he said bluntly.

"My hair stylist is on vacation," said Trapper, struggling to keep a lid on the anger that was seeping into his sarcasm. He looked awful, did he? Well, he simply couldn't _fathom_ why _that_ might be! Insensitive, moronic Ferret Face. "But unless you're here to fill in for her, that's not an answer to my question, Frank."

Frank's shifty gaze went back to Becky. He reached out. For a second Trapper thought he was going to place a hand on Becky's arm, but he only pinched the bedcover between his fingernails. His face twisted and squirmed in a myriad of ways that Trapper might have found amusing under different circumstances. As it was, he was tired, confused, and, despite himself, curious.

With no response evidently forthcoming, Trapper sighed and tilted his head back. It wasn't so bad having Frank there. It wasn't like he was _hurting_ anyone by being present. And how often could one say _that_ when Frank Burns was in a hospital?

He snorted.

"What? What's so funny?" Frank said with the speed of a bullet train. "You're laughing at _me_ , _aren't_ you?"

Another sigh, even more heartfelt. And, surprisingly, followed by a stab of guilt. Frank was right, after all. Trapper _was_ laughing at him. But somehow this seemed like an unkind admission to make when Frank had come to bring flowers to Trapper's injured daughter. If, of course, that _was_ why he'd come, not for any greedier motivation. Still, Trapper supposed that he ought to give Frank the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise.

"No, I'm not," he lied.

"It's not because I'm a sissy, you know!"

Trapper's forehead wrinkled at this. He peered up at the Major— _Lieutenant Colonel_ , he reminded himself. Frank had made that fact _abundantly_ clear during the weeks of his stay with the McIntyre family.—with a question in his eyes.

"Again, please? This time in English."

"I just happened to remember that she likes flowers, that's all," Frank declared, oblivious to Trapper's confusion. "It's no big deal or anything."

Trapper closed his eyes again. His headache was getting worse. Choosing to adopt his younger daughter's philosophy that 'If I can't see it, it can't see me' he kept his eyes closed and his mouth shut, willing this to be the end of their conversation. He was just too tired to deal with Frank Burns and his convoluted ego.

The only reason he hadn't thrown the man out yet was because somehow, during the weeks of their stateside cohabitation, Trapper had come to... Well, not _like_ the other man, but... True hatred had gone out the door. Probably for the sole reason that Becky and Kathy liked him, and the feeling had appeared to be mutual. Given that no requests for money had yet spewed forth, he could only imagine that this was the reason for Frank's visit now. To be quite honest, he hadn't realized the affection ran deep enough to warrant it. He was actually rather touched.

Even if Frank _was_ behaving like an idiot, as per usual.

Silence descended over the two surgeons. Several minutes passed. With each one, Trapper grew more relaxed with Frank's quiet presence. He even opened his eyes, eventually able to look at his sleeping daughter and his former bunkie side-by-side without experiencing the urge to smack his head against a wall.

"Is this what it's always like? For you and Pierce?"

Trapper blinked. A pair of beady eyes were fixed on him, wide and vulnerable.

"Is what like what's like?" he asked, then cringed. The sheer muck of that sentence sent another twinge through his aching head.

"Do you always... care this much?"

Trapper stared at him, stunned into silence.

But not for long.

"The accident must've rattled my brains more than I realized," he said, one side of his mouth quirking upwards. "I could've sworn I just heard Dr. Forty-thousand-dollar-house-and-two-cars admit to _feeling_ something."

Frank flushed red. "Oh, phooey on you-ey!" he spat. Trapper felt a pang.

"Frank, wait," he said. For once his tone was devoid of mockery. He even felt a little sorry. Normally even _he_ wouldn't have made fun of Frank for that, not when the man was finally showing a smidgen of humanity, but total exhaustion had erased what little filter he had. "I'm sorry. You can tell me, honest."

"Nerts to you!"

"No, really," Trapper insisted. "We're comrades-in-arms, remember? We've shared a lot more than just a couple of secrets. Come on." He gave a lopsided smile. This, along with his gently pleading eyes, were what Hawkeye had once dubbed his 'You can trust me, I'm just a small town boy with a heart and head of gold' look.

Lips still in a pout, Frank nonetheless fell victim to the Look as surely as everyone else did. With a jerky movement of the head, he turned back towards Becky.

"I heard about what happened," he said. "And I... Well, I haven't been able to sleep, or to eat. It's very important that I eat, you know! I have a very low tolerance for lack of nutrition. Mother would have a fit if she knew." He wrung his hands. "But I... I haven't been able to get it out of my mind. I've never been this worried about a patient before. Is this how you and Pierce always feel whenever you operate on someone?" His voice was wistful, clogged with shame, as though he was wondering for the first time whether there might be something wrong with _him_ rather than with _them_.

Trapper cleared his throat and surreptitiously rubbed a fist against his eyes. It wouldn't do for Frank to see how his eyes had gone all misty. He might get the wrong idea.

"No," he said honestly. "No, this is worse. It's always worse when it's somebody you care about. Somebody you love."

Frank said nothing to this, only continued to stare at Becky's face. Then,

"Will she be okay?"

Trapper nodded. He tossed his head to gesture towards the end of the bed. "You can read her charts if you want."

Frank nodded in thanks and did just that. For a split second, Trapper's vision doubled and he saw Frank in khaki pants and shirt, a white doctor's gown, and an army regulation cap, flipping through a patient's clipboard. Then he was back.

"Good, good," Frank was murmuring as he read the information.

A small, girlish cough drew the immediate attention of both doctors. Trapper was up and out of his chair in a second. Smiling, he brushed a hand over his waking daughter's forehead, smoothing aside her bangs.

"Hiya, sweetheart," he said, almost a whisper. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm kind of thirsty," she admitted.

Trapper picked up the cup of water from her bedside table and put the straw to her mouth. She slurped. When she'd had enough, he set the cup back down.

"Where's Mommy?" she asked.

"Mommy and Kathy are having lunch with your Nana. Is that okay? If you want her here, I can go call the restaurant, she'll be here in five minutes."

"That's okay." She smiled. "I like having you all to myself. We can play games. Like 'I Spy'!"

Trapper grinned. "That sounds like a lot of fun, munchkin," he said, as honest as he'd ever been in his life. He glanced up and to the side. He was unsurprised to see Frank still standing at the foot of the bed, shifting between his feet, utterly unsure of himself. Given a few seconds, he'd probably bolt from the room. "But before we do, there's somebody here who came just to see you."

Frank's eyes shot wide open at this. Then, at an encouraging nod from Trapper, he cleared his throat and walked up next to the bed.

When Becky saw him, her eyes lit up with a smile. Frank instantly relaxed, his near-constant fidgeting finally halted.

"Hi, Ferret Face," said Becky happily.

"Hi, monkey," returned Frank, his thin lips pulled up in a genuine, if slightly goofy, smile. There was something very child-like in that smile, and Trapper couldn't help but see this as more a meeting of two friends than anything else. It was as if Frank Burns had regressed twenty years into the innocence and simplicity of his childhood. "I brought you some flowers." He said this with eyes open wide and eyebrows raised, as though he was sharing some deep, important truth.

Trapper had to work very hard not to drop his jaw at the entire exchange. _Incredible_ , he thought. _Becky managed to turn 'Ferret Face' into an_ endearing _nickname. No wonder he's so fond of her._

The little girl looked and saw her bouquet. She smiled even brighter. "They're so pretty! I really like yellow flowers. They're my favorites."

"Me too!" said Frank, a little jump of happy surprise in his expression, as if this were some grand similarity between them. He giggled and shrugged his shoulders. Then he settled into the chair on his side of Becky's bed as the conversation between them continued.

Trapper sat back in his own chair, a hand over his mouth to cover his amused smile. He relaxed against the cushions. The actual words being spoken became lost to him as he merely watched, lulled into contentment by the strange, and unexpectedly pleasant, scene before him. There was no denying that Becky's affection for Frank was real. Just as there was no denying that Trapper had never seen Frank look upon another human being so warmly.

He didn't feel quite so bitter anymore. The war had left him with a lot of horrible baggage, that was unquestionable. But it had also blessed him with one of the biggest, most bizarre families in the world.

He wondered what the rest of his MASH family would have to say when he wrote home to Hawkeye about this latest development of their brother-in-arms.


	17. Chapter 16

_A/N: Okay, first of all, I'm_ so _sorry for the wait. I took a bit of a break over the holidays (from everything, really, not just this). And beyond that, this chapter has been a little challenging for me. First time I've had to incorporate an actual episode into the story. Kind of got me blocked for a while. Anyways! I hope it is satisfactory, and that some of ya'll are indeed still reading this. Happy-belated-holidays, everyone!_

* * *

He was thrilled, of course he was! The army had made yet another of its many clerical errors. But this time, for the first time, it was a good one, one that would actually _benefit_ rather than injure.

B.J. was going home. And he was thrilled.

He was thrilled to see Peg, and thrilled to see Erin, and thrilled to leave behind every single rock in Korea. He was even thrilled to do all the boring household chores that had once made him yearn for excitement and adventure instead. Now, he'd had enough excitement and adventure to last a lifetime. Boring chores were exactly what he needed.

He was thrilled.

He even honestly believed that, until he went to visit Hawkeye. The sight of his friend was all it took to realize how very, very wrong he'd been.

He wasn't thrilled at all. The adrenaline in his system wasn't elation, it was panic. The smile that just wouldn't quit was only there to hide his despair. One look at Hawkeye told him what he truly wanted.

He wanted Hawkeye to give him a reason to stay. It wouldn't be hard; all he had to do was tell Hawkeye what had happened, and before Hawkeye could control himself, his eyes would flash with fear, with need. After that, it wouldn't matter how enthusiastically Hawkeye encouraged him to go. That one look was all B.J. would need to keep him tethered.

This knowledge hit him the moment he stepped into Hawkeye's cell, and for a moment he felt peace.

Then guilt.

What kind of a father _was_ he? He could be home in time for his daughter's birthday and he was thinking of giving that up? For what?

No, he knew for what. For Hawkeye. And he would, too. He couldn't leave Hawkeye, not now. Not like this. He didn't _want_ to. Not all the fatherly guilt in the world could change that.

Knowing this fact only made the guilt stronger. As though to compensate for it, he couldn't seem to stop himself from talking nonstop about Erin. About her upcoming birthday, her little booties, her itty bitty hands. _I'm a good father_ , he wanted to cry out. _I_ am _!_

Instead all he managed to do was rile Hawkeye into a state. Unsettled, he called for Sidney. Dr. Freedman reentered the room. Upon observing Hawkeye's demeanor, he said,

"Maybe Hawkeye and I should talk alone for a while."

B.J. nodded curtly, knowing the psychiatrist was right. But his legs wouldn't cooperate. He remained stuck in the doorway, stuck between here and there, inside and outside, Korea and home. Hawkeye looked up at him, obviously confused, perhaps even a little annoyed at his friend's continued presence.

 _Ask me to stay, Hawk_ , he begged silently. _Just ask me to stay, and I'll stay._

"Go, what are you waiting for?" Hawkeye said.

And B.J.'s heart crumbled like the walls of Jericho.

* * *

 _It's what they all expect_ , he told himself as Klinger snagged him a flight out of Kimpo.

 _It's what Hawkeye would want_ , he told himself as he threw open his suitcase with a bang. He'd been given the rarest of all chances. The 4077th would never forgive him if he passed up on it, when any one of them would kill for the same.

It was the right thing to do. He remembered how Hawkeye had blown up at Radar for trying to ignore his discharge. If he tried the same, Hawkeye would despise him, and everyone would know the truth about him—that he was a terrible father who would rather stay in Korea to look after his best friend than return to his own child. He would be reviled, a pariah in his own home.

Home. He steeled himself. Home was Mill Valley and lemon trees, not the 4077th MASH unit in Korea. This is what he was expected to do, what he _should_ do.

B.J. sat on his bunk, pen and paper in hand. A note, he had to leave a note.

 _Write, dammit!_ B.J. willed himself. His stomach roiled, but the pen made no indentations, not so much as a 'Yours truly.'

Time was up. Without having written a word, B.J. raced to give Father Mulcahy one last check-up before he lifted off into the sky.

* * *

There hadn't been time. That's what he told himself, over and over and over.

He stopped believing it ten minutes into the chopper ride.

There had been time to scribble a word or two, even five or six. He could have said any number of things. He could have said, _I'll never forget you, Hawk_ , or _Farewell, my friend_ , or _See you on the other side_.

He could have said, _Love, B.J._

But he hadn't. And by minute twenty-two of the plane ride to Guam, he knew why.

" _And damn well not Trapper John McIntyre!_ " he'd shouted in the heat of anger.

And yet here he was, at the first test of loyalty, proving that he was _exactly_ like Trapper, and he knew, he _knew_... that it was going to break Hawkeye.

Given the queasy state of affairs in his stomach, B.J. was surprised he was managing to keep down his latest meal. At the moment, he was sitting in a dingy Officer's Club in Guam, waiting for his connecting flight. Drink after drink was served to him. The quality liquor left a bad taste in his mouth. He yearned for the bitter taste of badly brewed gin instead.

" _Promise... Promise you won't leave me_."

" _I'm not going to leave you alone over here, all right? I promise._ "

The truth was, he wouldn't have been able to pen a note to Hawkeye if he'd had five days rather than five minutes. Because he knew, in his heart of hearts, that what he was doing was _wrong_. Social expectations be damned.

He downed one final drink. Then he stood and swung his gaze in a sharp sweep of the room.

It didn't take more than a second to pinpoint what he was searching for.

With a step as sturdy as any sober man's, B.J. strode up to the table. The man turned surprised eyes up at him over his glass of scotch.

"Mr. M.P.," B.J. declared. "My name is Dr. B.J. Hunnicutt. I think you'll find there's a table waiting for me in Korea."

* * *

"I got as far as Guam and all flights are canceled," he told Colonel Potter as they walked back into camp together. "Nothing going in or out. I'm sitting there in this crummy Officer's Club and this guy comes up to me and says, 'You Hunnicutt the doctor?' Now, I didn't like the sound of that, so I said, 'No, not me, pal. I'm Hunnicutt the chaplain.' And he says, 'Well, chaplain, you better start praying for a miracle, because you're going back to Korea to do surgery.'"

Palms sweating, heart palpitating. B.J. made himself sound as sincere as possible while expressing his disappointment with the circumstances. He had to restrain an audible sigh of relief when Colonel Potter accepted his story without question.

There. He'd played the part. No one had to know what he'd done.

Like a vision out of a dream, Hawkeye was suddenly there at his side. B.J.'s breath caught in his chest, then melted into a smile. His hand reached out to touch, to confirm that Hawkeye was real.

"Hey, you're looking a lot better than the last time I saw you," he said. "How you feeling?"

"In the pink," Hawkeye answered. He stared at B.J., unflinching, unspeaking. B.J.'s heart began to pound again, but he dared to hope, hope that Hawkeye would forgive him, that in returning swiftly he had avoided permanently wounding his friend. If he could only explain himself...

"Uh, I wanted to leave you a note before I left," he said. "I just didn't have the time."

"I didn't even know you were gone, I thought you were in the bathroom," was Hawkeye's flippant reply.

That was all it took. B.J. knew. Having abandoned his friend for a second time, B.J. had shattered all the trust between them, and soured any affection Hawkeye had for him, possibly forever.

And B.J. didn't know if he could fix it.

* * *

Night had fallen before B.J. managed to catch Hawkeye alone.

"Hawk, wait," he said, grabbing his friend's arm before he could enter the Swamp, where Charles's presence made privacy impossible. "We need to talk."

"I know; I _told_ them olive drab clashes with my complexion," said Hawkeye, referring to the army issue jacket clutched between B.J.'s fingers. "But did they listen?"

He tried to extricate himself from B.J.'s grasp, obviously intent upon continuing the charade that nothing was wrong between them. Like he'd been doing all day. Bland smiles and empty jokes. All of Hawkeye's usual wit, minus the soul.

"Knock it off, will you?" said B.J., a little more harshly than he'd intended. "Just... Come on. Supply tent is free."

"Unless there's a petite blonde waiting for me, I'm not interested," Hawkeye said. Again he turned to go. Again the fingers in his coat curled tighter.

"Sorry," said B.J. "You'll have to make do with a large, gray-streaked blond." With that, he took a firmer grasp around Hawkeye's forearm and pulled his friend bodily away from the Swamp and towards the supply tent.

When B.J. shut the door behind them, he turned to find Hawkeye watching him with arms crossed, an apathetic expression on his face.

"B.J., this really isn't necessary," he said.

"Yes, I think it is. We need to clear the air."

"Of what? I'm not angry, really!" Hawkeye insisted, opening up his arms in a show of honesty. "You got papers to go home. Of course you went! Who wouldn't? You'd have to be—"

" _I_ wouldn't."

Hawkeye blinked, caught by surprise. "What?"

B.J. stepped closer to his friend. " _I_ wouldn't. That's what I've been trying to tell you, Hawk. The M.P. didn't catch me. I turned myself in. I could have made it home without a hitch if I'd wanted to. I _chose_ to come back."

All of Hawkeye's thoughts seemed to have been derailed. He stared at B.J. with widened eyes and a slack jaw. "I don't understand, what are you talking about?"

"I made you a promise," B.J. said. "A promise that I wouldn't leave you alone over here, and I meant it. I couldn't just walk out without so much as a goodbye, especially... especially with things being the way they were."

At this, a look of sickened terror twisted Hawkeye's normally attractive features. "Wait, are you... Are you saying you stayed in Korea because I... I made you make a stupid, rotten promise?"

"Hawk—"

"Oh god," the older man groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "Right now you could be home, with your wife, with _Erin_ and instead you're here in this pit, in the middle of a warzone, and if you d— ...If anything happens to you, it will be my fault! Oh god I'm sorry, B.J., I shouldn't have—"

B.J. stomped forward and grabbed Hawkeye by the arms. The other man's eyes shot open. Streaks of panic darted through the blue.

" _Hawkeye_ ," B.J. said. "I didn't stay because I felt bound by the promise I made to you."

Hawk's brow twisted again, this time with confusion. "Then..."

"I stayed because I _meant_ that promise. Hawk, I... I _tried_ to leave. I tried." B.J. swallowed hard. "I knew... I knew that it was expected of me. It's like you said. I got my papers to go home. They were a mistake, sure, but who wouldn't seize that chance? They all would've _hated_ me if I hadn't gone. I thought even you... Like how angry you got with Radar when _he_ tried to stay. So... I left. I was a good little boy, and I got on that plane, but... I couldn't go through with it. I couldn't leave Korea, not while you were still here."

"Why?" asked Hawkeye, his voice hoarse. Utter bewilderment was spelled out in every line of his face. "Why would you give all that up for me? _Why_?"

A fond, if somewhat sad, smile pulled at B.J.'s lips. He looked down at the floor, shaking his head. Then he looked back up and met Hawkeye's gaze.

"Has it ever occurred to you that I need you as much as you need me? Maybe even more?"

Hawkeye sucked in a sharp breath, as if he'd been punched. Meanwhile his eyes melted even further into puppy-dog status. B.J.'s smile deepened.

"Just because I don't say it out loud, doesn't mean it isn't true," B.J. continued. "I could no sooner leave you here than I could perform open heart surgery on myself."

Hawkeye remained speechless. A rare occasion indeed. A bright, warm feeling bloomed in B.J.'s chest as he took in the sight of the man who had stolen his heart without knowing it.

"So," he said. "Can you forgive me for keeping my promise?"

Finally, Hawkeye's mouth lifted into a smile. The sheen of tears in his eyes sparkled. He swallowed, never breaking eye contact with the taller man.

"I'm glad you came back, Beej," he said with an air of admittance, as though he felt guilty for the feeling. But ultimately it was his joy, his gratitude, that shone through.

"Yeah," B.J. said. "Me too."


	18. Chapter 17

_A/N: So! Here is my treat, as an apology for being gone so long. This chapter is a little on the short side, admittedly, but look how fast I updated! This one wraps up my foray into the finale. Please let me know what you think! Thanks so much to Sandra67 who has continued to provide amazing support on this story._

 _Oh, and, I forgot to say this in the last chapter..._

 _R.I.P. Wayne Rogers. You were loved, and shall be missed. We will remember you fondly. Au revoir, Trapper John._

 _I gotta be honest, folks, the passing of Wayne Rogers has not only made me incredibly sad (though I am glad he lived a fairly long and healthy life), but has made this story feel that much more important to me. I suppose a slash fanfic is hardly paying tribute to a deceased actor, but nevertheless. I love Trapper, and I love Wayne Rogers for all he gave to us, and I am now looking forward that much more to writing a few upcoming chapters which will include my beloved Trapper John._

 _I hope everyone is doing well, and had a nice holiday season._

* * *

Surreal was the only word to describe it. Not even a week since he'd made the impossible decision to stay in Korea for Hawk rather than go home for his family, and the war was over. The truce had been signed. Everyone was going home.

Everyone was leaving home.

That night, after a final session in the OR, the 4077th shared their hopes and dreams for the future. They drank and laughed and cried, all knowing that this would be the last time they ever did so together.

After toasting Klinger and his future marital bliss, the congregation finally split up. Everyone retreated to bed, though many not to their own. B.J. suspected that most would have difficulty finding any rest that night. He among them. He was exhausted from surgery, true, but the anticipation of the following day was too great. An intense mixture of joy and sorrow had driven sleep far beyond his grasp.

As he and Hawkeye strolled out of the mess tent together, B.J. debated whether or not to ask his friend to stay up with him. It didn't seem fair to deprive Hawkeye of much needed sleep, but if this was to be their last night together... Well, he simply couldn't bear the thought of spending it alone.

Before he'd made up his mind, Hawkeye had fingers in his jacket. B.J. turned to find an intent blue gaze fixed on him.

"Beej," Hawkeye said. "Come with me." He gave a slight tug, indicating with his head a trajectory that would lead, not to the Swamp, but the minefield.

"We'll have time for goodbyes tomorrow, Hawk," B.J. pointed out.

Hawkeye shook his head. "No, not... I can't do this in the daylight. Please."

Acquiescing, B.J. followed his friend. They walked from camp out to the edge of the minefield. All was silent but for the scuff of their boots and the whisper of far-away crickets. The darkness and the silence seemed like one single entity, shapeless, fathomless, swallowing the two men in its depths, creating a barrier between them and the rest of the world.

When they'd come to a halt, Hawkeye commenced staring at the ground. Sensing that his friend merely needed a moment to bring his thoughts together, B.J. took the opportunity to look up at the sky. He drank in the millions of stars above them. He hadn't taken enough time to appreciate the stars in Korea. The stars that would soon vanish for him in the city lights of San Francisco. There was something magical about the stars, and for this brief space in time... He could almost believe there was no war. There had never _been_ any war. It was merely he and his best friend, the man he loved, on a retreat together in the wilderness of a beautiful foreign country.

Hawkeye's voice brought him out from his reverie.

"There's something I need to tell you, and after tomorrow I might never see you again."

B.J. turned to the other man.

His chest immediately tightened. What was it about Hawk's eyes that made them far more entrancing than any canopy of stars? Was it their vibrant blue shade? Their reflection of tears?

Or was it the way that they looked at B.J. as though he were an oasis in the desert? As though the answer to every riddle Hawkeye had ever been asked lay in B.J.'s eyes? As though the gods of Olympus could do battle on the very mountain beside them, and Hawkeye still would not look away.

Breath momentarily ceased making its way into B.J.'s body.

"You might _decide_ you never wanna see me again after you hear what I have to say," continued Hawkeye, solemn yet determined, "but... I need you to know." He inhaled. Then, with the most sincerity B.J. had ever seen from the man,

"That day you arrived at Kimpo was the best day of my life. I didn't know it at the time, but it was. You saved me, Beej. You're... You're an angel."

B.J.'s heart stopped. Only to catapult itself forward in a frantic sprint.

Hawkeye smiled, half-amusement, half-tears. "And I know how ridiculous that sounds, especially coming from me and _believe_ me," he said passionately, "I never thought these words would be coming out of my mouth. But you are. You're an angel. There's no other word for it." His shoulders rose and fell in a helpless shrug.

"I knew it from that very first day," he went on. "And that alone should tell you something because I was pretty wrapped up in my own hurt that day. But sitting there at the bar with you, holding you when you got sick... I knew. And when you got out of the jeep and called Frank 'Ferret Face'... I never knew it was _possible_ to be that happy."

Blue eyes shone at B.J. in the starlight.

"You..." Hawkeye's hand gestured as he searched for the proper word, as though the hand movements might help draw the words out. "You radiated _light_ , Beej. And I thought, you know, maybe it was just the green behind your ears reflecting the sun, but no. Even when this pit dragged you down to Hell with the rest of us, nothing could change that about you."

Hawkeye swallowed. A flicker of sadness crossed his face, but it was nearly hidden beneath the brightness of his gaze, the lightness of his expression. He looked as if someone had inserted a knife between his ribs, but somehow, he was happy that they had done so.

"And the thing is... I love you."

All air was yanked from B.J.'s lungs. There was a roaring in his ears, waves rushing at the shore of his mind. The very words he had yearned for, and dreaded. Whether he was closer to tears or whoops of elation, he wasn't sure, though he suspected the former.

Hawkeye was unquestionably closer to tears, despite the heart-achingly lovely smile now on his lips.

"I'm in love with you," he said again, offering up the revelation as though it were merely a basic fact of the universe, like gravity. "My best friend. And I don't know how I'm gonna make it without you back in the States. I love you so much it's a physical _ache_ in my _chest_." A surgeon's graceful hand clutched at the spot just above his heart, emphasizing the statement. "The idea of losing you is..."

He stopped, shoving down a look of pain, sickness. "Well." He smiled tightly. Bravely. "It doesn't matter. I'll learn. I'll have to."

B.J. opened his mouth.

A hand shot up, its owner wincing. "Please, you don't have to say anything. In fact, I'd prefer if you didn't. I know you don't—" This time Hawkeye clamped down on his teeth, halting the words. He shook his head, looked down at the ground. Then back up. "But listen. If..." His feet shifted. "If what I've said has upset you at all, just... pretend it never happened. Please. For my sake. Give me this one last day with you. With us. Then... Then you'll never have to see me again if you don't want to."

B.J. fought the tears threatening to spill forth. "You can't get rid of me that easy," he said.

He threw his arms around Hawkeye, hugging his friend more tightly than he ever had before. The frightened tension vanished from the smaller man's body in one fell swoop. Without a moment's hesitation, Hawkeye wrapped his arms around B.J. in return, just as fiercely. They embraced for a long moment, the solid press of their bodies an anchor in the darkness that surrounded them. B.J. breathed deep, his friend's familiar scent calming and enticing him all at once.

B.J. wasn't sure he would ever have willingly parted from the other man. But finally Hawkeye cleared his throat and unwound his arms. Reluctantly B.J. let Hawkeye remove himself from B.J.'s grasp.

"Come on," Hawk said, his smile soft, quiet, yet full of profound relief. "We should get back." He turned to go.

The end. Over. Goodbye, farewell, and amen. Done. Gone. Forever.

Hawkeye started back towards camp. Panic. Heart, palpitating. _Ba BUM ba BUM ba BUM._

B.J.'s hand flung itself out and he caught Hawkeye by the arm, wrenching him to a halt. "Hawk, wait."

His heart pounded inside his chest, so loudly he half-wondered at the fact that none of the 4077th had leapt from their beds at the sound of war drums echoing in the night.

Hawkeye's head snapped back around. Wide-eyed, they stared at each other. B.J.'s chest heaved up and down. He feel his fingers digging harder and harder into Hawkeye's arm. He could feel the words buried in his heart, out of sight of the world, meant to stay secret always, always, his secret to keep, his burden to bear. Only now... Now the words had been spoken, and not from _his_ lips, but from Hawkeye's, and God Almighty but he needed to tell Hawkeye, he _needed_ Hawkeye to know...

 _I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you_

But he couldn't. He couldn't do that to Hawkeye. To himself. He couldn't do that to Peg, to Erin. In less than twelve hours he would be gone, and Hawkeye would be gone, and B.J. would return home to his family. To his wife. His wife whom he had once loved. Whom he would come to love again.

Because he had to.

He couldn't. He couldn't say the words, not now, no matter how desperately they wished to burst free of him.

With a strong pull, B.J. brought Hawkeye to him and pressed his forehead against the other man's.

A surprised breath stuttered between Hawkeye's lips. His eyes flew shut. Squeezed tight, as in pain, or ecstasy, or both. He pressed even closer to his friend. Still gripping Hawkeye's arms, B.J. too let his eyes fall closed. They stood, foreheads pressed together, lips inches apart, sharing air, sharing life, every huff of breath a touch of intimacy.

And though it wasn't a kiss, it _felt_ like a kiss.

It felt like _more_ than a kiss.

It felt like, _I love you_.

* * *

Hawkeye's confession existed in a twilight world separate from reality. For that reason, there was no doubt in B.J.'s mind that Hawkeye would be making an equally heartfelt—if less romantic—speech the following day.

Their _last_ day.

But even though B.J. was not as good at speech-making as his friend, this was one time he wasn't going to let Hawk have the last word.

He grabbed the biggest rocks he could find and got to work.


	19. Chapter 18

_A/N: This chapter was originally going to be longer, but the next scene kept dragging on and on, so I decided to cut this chapter off here and leave the next scene for the next installment. I'm sorry my updates are less frequent than they used to be! But I really appreciate all the support you folks have given me. I hope you enjoy my first venture into post-show territory!_

* * *

Hawkeye's first week back in the States was spent in the only place he could conceive of being after the trauma of the war and the trauma of leaving it. Crabapple Cove, Maine.

His father greeted him at the airport. A shaking smile on his wrinkled face was all it took for the tears to come rolling out.

Hawkeye ran to his father, sweeping the shorter man up into an embrace. He felt simultaneously five years old and a hundred years old. He clung to his father for what might have been a minute, or a week, or a year.

Then he was relinquishing his bag to his father's still-strong grip and walking alongside him out to the car. It was the same 1942 Ford Sedan his father had driven before the war, barely any the worse for wear since Hawkeye had left. A hot, acidic feeling crept up his throat at the sight. He barely restrained a growl.

Hawkeye stopped in his tracks. What? Why wasn't he _happy_ to see something so familiar, so beloved?

Then he realized why, and he was struck dumb by the knowledge of it. He was feeling _jealous_ towards a _car_. A car! He was bitter that the automobile had emerged from the last several years in better condition than he had.

Ashamed, he forced a smile onto his face and ducked into the passenger seat, refusing to acknowledge the bile carving a hole in his stomach.

* * *

After a week in Crabapple Cove— _Home_ , Hawkeye reminded himself, ignoring the feeling that some essential element of 'home' was missing—he found himself again at the airport. This time he hugged his father for an eternity, and it was only the promise of seeing him again only a week or two later that made it possible for Hawkeye to step onto the plane.

Upon landing, Hawkeye got into a cab and gave an address he had only ever put on paper before. He was too nervous with anticipation to appreciate the city around him as the cabbie drove them to his destination.

All too soon they had arrived. Hawkeye paid the driver and stepped out onto the sidewalk, bag in hand. It was a nice suburban house with a nice suburban lawn and Hawkeye immediately felt like an intruder. Would his friend even want to see him? Perhaps he wanted to keep the different parts of his life separate—Hawkeye in Korea, his family in the U.S.

What if Hawkeye was unwelcome?

But there was nowhere else to go now. And it would be even _worse_ just to stand outside, unmoving, staring at their house. Someone might very well call the police.

Swallowing, Hawkeye stepped up the walkway and onto the porch. His heart hammered in his chest as he rang the doorbell.

He waited. He shifted his bag from one sweaty hand to another. Twice his legs twitched as though to turn his body around, but he forced himself to stand his ground. He conjured a mental image of his friend, as though this would lessen the emotional pounding he would receive when the door opened to reveal—

The lock clicked and Hawkeye's heart boomed like a steady fall of artillery shells. The door swung open.

A woman of medium height, light brown hair, and dark brown eyes stood in front of him. Completely average in every way. Except somehow, there was something so soft and gentle in the curve of her cheeks, the upturn of her lips, and the kind, patient look in her eyes, that Hawkeye was left with the impression of one of the most lovely women he'd ever met. He liked her instantly.

"Yes, can I help you?" Louise asked, smiling.

His heart started to pound again, and he was shocked to discover that he, Benjamin Franklin 'Hawkeye' Pierce, Casanova extraordinaire, was feeling _shy_.

"Uh, hi," he said, trying not to fidget. "Is Trapper... I mean, is John at home?"

Her eyes grew bright and misty as she looked at him with renewed understanding. "Hawkeye?"

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I'm—"

Before he could blink, Louise threw herself on him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and tucking her head against his shoulder. His breath stopped. Then, slowly, carefully, he gave her a tentative hug in return. After a moment, the stiffness left his limbs and he melted into the embrace. He breathed deep as the comfort of her touch eased the aches and pains of his heart.

When she finally withdrew her arms from around his neck, she seemed so overcome with some emotion that she couldn't even look at him. The sight made Hawkeye speechless. A place deep inside of him that usually clamored with words, words, and more words had gone suddenly quiet. He could only stare at her, suffused with warmth and gratitude at the depth of emotion she was expressing for him, _because_ of him. Even now she kept a hand on Hawkeye's shoulder, as though she needed to keep touching him; he only wished he could tell her with words that _he_ needed the touch as well.

"Darling," Louise called through the open doorway, her hand squeezing Hawkeye's shoulder, "would you come to the door please? There's a package for you."

"Well can't _you_ sign for it?" answered a voice from inside the house. At the sound of his friend's smooth, buttery Boston drawl, Hawkeye snapped to attention again, pulse racing.

"No, he's insisting you sign for it yourself!"

There was the sound of footsteps, and with each word Trapper got closer. "All right, all right. I'm coming. But first thing tomorrow, I'm teaching you how to forge my signature. Think you can pass for a John?—" he said as the door opened wider and a mess of blond curls stopped dead in their tracks.

"Heh-hey!"

A big grin splitting his cheeks, Trapper practically tackled his friend in a hug. All at once Hawkeye felt loose and light and free. They laughed gaily together, squeezing tight and clapping backs as though they were reuniting college buddies.

Then Trapper pulled back. Their grins faded away as their eyes met.

They hugged again, this time with tears in their eyes and no smiles on their lips. They clung to one another for a long moment, Hawkeye breathing in his friend's familiar scent minus the booze and the dust of Korea.

Trapper cleared his throat. He released Hawkeye then, but, much like his wife, who had stepped considerately out of the way, he kept a hand on Hawkeye's shoulder. He pulled his friend inside, shouting, "Girls! Come and meet your Uncle Hawkeye!"

* * *

The afternoon was spent inducting Hawkeye into the McIntyre household. Becky and Kathy were thrilled to meet the man who they knew only through stories told of their 'Uncle Hawkeye.'

(The mere revelation that Trapper called him this was enough to bring tears to Hawk's eyes.)

Initially afraid he wouldn't live up to their hopes and expectations, Hawkeye found quickly that he adored the two girls, and they in turn adored him. He wasn't entirely sure how he would ever manage to tear himself away from this place when he'd found the most receptive audience of his lifetime.

Even if he _did_ have to weed out his more, ahem, _inappropriate_ jokes.

It wasn't until late that evening, when Trapper had taken the girls off to bed, that Hawkeye registered his own exhaustion. Plane travel was tiring enough. But beyond that, it was taxing to spend hours on end only presenting the happy-go-lucky, glib, charming side of himself. What he needed most now was a drink, a pillow, and an ear for his woes and hardships.

It struck him in that moment how truly _lucky_ he had been in Korea, first to find Trapper, then B.J. He'd already known this, of course. Had thanked a God he didn't believe in for the blessings of their companionship. But never before had he been so aware of the destruction that the war would have wrecked upon him had he not had two exceptional shoulders to lean on.

A hand on his arm interrupted this morose line of thinking. Louise smiled up at him.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" she asked.

He blinked, noticing that she had set a pile of blankets and pillows on the couch that was to be his bed.

 _A drink_ , he thought. He shook his head. "No, thank you. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. You letting me stay here. I know it wasn't... I know I should have called before coming, but—"

"Hawkeye," she said. He closed his mouth, utterly taken in by her earnest gaze. "You never need to call. Family is always welcome. And in this household, you are always family. Besides, I'm the one who needs to thank _you_."

"Me?" The word blurted from his mouth in surprise.

Her eyes crinkled, making her smile even sweeter. "John came home to me in one piece and I owe that all to you. You kept him going over there. You kept him alive."

Hawkeye swallowed. "No, I didn't, uh... I mean I wasn't really... _He_ was the one who kept _me_ going, not, you know—"

Louise took hold of his hands and squeezed gently. "You did. And I will be forever grateful." Then she stretched up and kissed his cheek. The gesture was wholly platonic, and yet it was so unexpectedly intimate that Hawkeye felt himself flush red.

Before he had time to think of a response, heavy footsteps came clomping down the stairs and Trapper walked into the living room with them. With Hawkeye still staring at her dumbstruck, Louise let go and turned her smile on her husband. His return smile was instinctive, and a light grew in his eyes, one that Hawkeye had seen only too rarely in Korea. Louise tilted her head up and Trapper met her obligingly for a chaste kiss. She rested her hands against his chest as she looked back at Hawkeye and said,

"I'll leave you boys to your own devices, I'm sure there's plenty for you to catch up on. I'll be upstairs if you need anything."

With a few graceful movements, she was gone and away. While Hawkeye was still staring after the departed woman, Trapper moved his attention away and began to make the bed (couch) as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Hawkeye joined him after a moment, grabbing the other end of a sheet.

"I'm sorry we don't have a guest bedroom to put you up in, Hawk," Trapper said as he tucked one corner of the bedsheet beneath the couch cushion. "You sure you wouldn't rather take Becky's bed and let the girls bunk? They wouldn't mind a bit, honest."

"Really, I'm fine," said Hawkeye. "I've been sleeping better on couches since I got back. Closer to..." Suddenly ashamed, he let the sentence hang unfinished. He ignored it when Trapper glanced up at him.

"Army cots?"

Hawkeye bit down on his teeth, but nodded. "Yeah. Those."

They finished dressing down the couch in silence. Once they were done, they stood next to the completed bed, side by side, still saying nothing. They looked at one another. Then looked away again. Hawkeye felt an unusual, and unwelcome, sensation of awkwardness prickling up his skin.

"So," said Trapper.

Another awkward pause. Hawkeye couldn't bring himself to look the other man in the eyes.

"Want a drink?"

Hawkeye sagged with relief. "God, yes. And make it a double."


	20. Chapter 19

_A/N: Hi, everybody! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. You're the best. Again, I'm sorry the wait between chapters is so much longer than it used to be! Hopefully to make up for that a tiny bit, this chapter is definitely longer than usual. Hope you all enjoy it! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts._

* * *

While there may have been no shoddy still, Hawkeye was enormously pleased to discover that his friend had all the makings for a martini. He settled himself on a stool at the kitchen island. Trapper stood on the other side, a towel draped over one arm as he retrieved the martini components with a smoothness that suggested habit.

"Extra dry if you please, bartender," said Hawkeye. "And _don't_ hold the olives."

Trapper shot him a playful look. "As if I could forget how my best customer takes his liquor?"

"Touché, my good man."

Trapper finished pouring their drinks, settling an olive delicately into both glasses before snapping the towel up and over his shoulder with a dramatic flair. Hawkeye raised his eyebrows and clapped. Trapper bowed. Then, taking his own martini in hand, he leaned against his side of the island with his elbow on the counter.

Hawkeye raised his glass. "A toast! Let us drink and be merry!"

" _You_ be Mary," snarked Trapper, gesturing with his eyes. " _I'll_ be Joseph."

"Does that mean I get to have your baby?"

"Not if the big fella has anything to say about it."

"Why should General MacArthur care whether or not we procreate?"

Grinning, Trapper raised his glass. A peaceful silence descended over them as the two friends sipped at their drinks.

After a moment, Hawkeye said, "You've got a lovely family, Trap."

Trapper nodded, his eyes on the countertop. "Yeah. I'm a real lucky guy."

"The girls are great. Sweet, cute, smart... It's a good thing they took after their mother."

"Hey, they take after me too!" said Trapper. "Where else could they have gotten blonde hair?"

Hawkeye smirked, an expression that was mirrored back at him. Then he grew more serious. He was unsure how to broach the subject that was plaguing his curiosity.

"I mean... really, Trap. Louise is... I mean, she's an exceptionally _kind_... sweet-tempered... beautiful woman."

Trapper sighed, lowering his glass.

Hawkeye threw up a hand. "I'm not judging you, Trapper, you _know_ I'm not judging you. I'm just... I don't know, I'm confused! She's not what I expected, what I pictured. The way you talked about her sometimes... I don't know, I guess I thought—"

"She was a harpy?" Trapper said bluntly. "A jealous, demanding leech of a wife?"

"Yeah, maybe," was the equally blunt answer.

"I know."

"Then why—"

"I lied."

Hawkeye's brow scrunched together. "But... huh? _Why_? I just don't get it! Why didn't you tell anyone? Why didn't you tell _me_?"

Trapper stared down into his unfinished martini. Then, jaw clenched, he looked up and met Hawkeye's gaze. "Because. It was the only way for me to stay sane, okay?"

Hawkeye blinked.

"If I had let myself think for one minute about what was waiting for me at home, I would have gone AWOL before you ever got to camp," he went on. "If I'd told anybody, _anybody_ , how... how damn _perfect_ my Louise is, that would've meant _I_ had to think about it _too_ , and... I would've gone out of my mind, Hawk. The only way I could get through was to forget about it, forget all of it. And she let me, you know. Before they shipped me off, she told me to do whatever I needed to do to stay alive. She knew what that meant. And still she told me."

Hawkeye couldn't tear his eyes away. Trapper had always been open and honest, but this confession was unparalleled. It was as if the other man were shedding weight merely by sharing this truth.

"You mean she... She was okay with you being, you know..."

"Unfaithful? Yup. Gave me her blessing and everything."

"Then why didn't you just _say_ so?" asked Hawkeye, perplexed. "Why make everybody think you were playing dirty when you never really were?"

Trapper shot him a look. "Sure, like anybody would've believed me? Nurses, they don't mind fooling around with a guy who _admits_ he's doing wrong, but if I'd told 'em my wife had given me the green light? They woulda thought I was not only a two-timer, but a lying _low-life_ of a two-timer. I never would've gotten _any_ action."

Now that he was imagining it, Hawkeye couldn't disagree with his friend's argument. He could picture only too well how the nurses would have rejected Trapper right off if he'd made such an unlikely claim.

"Yeah, you're probably right," he admitted.

Trapper made a face, one that said, _You bet your pretty silk panties I am_. Hawkeye chuckled. Just looking into the familiar face of 'Trapper' John Xavier McIntyre was enough to relax him. He felt vastly more contented than he had ever since returning home.

"Hey, Trapper?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you."

His heart warmed to see Trapper's responding smile. This smile, while genuinely happy, was also the only one of Trapper John's many smiles which could ever be described as _awkward_. Every other smile was confident and virile. Not this one. This one was something very close to bashful, and Hawkeye loved it.

"Every day you were gone," he continued.

Awkward smile still on his face, Trapper arched a coy eyebrow. "I bet you say that to _all_ the bartenders."

"Only the ones who steal my heart on the dance floor," Hawkeye returned with a grin.

This time Trapper looked down. "Yeah." His head bobbed in a nod as he stared at the counter. Finally he pulled his gaze back up. "I missed you too, Hawk."

Hawkeye's smile grew even brighter. The army friends stared at one another for a long moment. Trapper was the first to look away. Then a thought seemed to occur to him, and the smile turned into a grimace.

"I'm sorry that I, you know..." He waved a hand. "The way that I... that I _left_ and everything..."

"Trap." He waited until his friend looked at him. "It's okay, really."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Or it _will_ be as soon as you pour me another drink."

Trapper grinned. "Your wish is my command." He poured them each another glass. "So," he said, taking a sip. "How's it feel to be home?"

"It doesn't," Hawkeye answered. He accepted the refilled martini. "I don't feel like I'm home, I feel like I'm on leave and any second Klinger's gonna get me on the phone so Colonel Potter can yell at me for being late."

"The war's over, Hawk." Trapper leaned towards him over the counter, no doubt trying to reassure his friend, to comfort him. "You don't have to be afraid of that anymore."

Hawkeye lifted the glass towards his lips. It never reached them. Instead, he set it back down, shaking his head. "But that's not even the worst bit."

"What's the worst bit?"

His fingers wrapped delicately around the stem of his glass.

"I'm not afraid of getting that call," he said. "I'm afraid of _not_ getting it."

Outrage, almost anger, flashed across Trapper's face. He set down his glass with too much force. Some of the gin sloshed up the sides.

"You want to be _back_ there, are you _crazy_?" His drink sat entirely forgotten on the countertop. Hawkeye got the disturbing notion that his friend was not far from physical violence.

"No no, this isn't crazy!" he said, wagging a finger, eyes burning with his own anger. He wasn't entirely sure whether he was seeking to dissuade Trapper from hitting him, or to encourage him. "Believe me, crazy and I recently became very intimate with one another. This isn't that. All my marbles are safely locked and secured in their rightful places."

"Then why would you even _think_ about wanting to go back?"

"Because!" Hawkeye exclaimed. "I—"

The fight suddenly went out of him. His body sagged.

He forced out a sad chuckle. "Because I left my heart in Korea, can you believe it?" Then he shook his head. He twisted the glass stem between his fingers. "No, I guess that's not true. I left my heart on a banged-up motorcycle that was _also_ leaving Korea, just in a different direction from me."

There was a pause. Hawkeye was too overwhelmed—with sorrow, with guilt, with longing—to look Trapper in the face. He stared at the kitchen wall instead.

"Hawk, I'm sorry," Trapper said quietly. Hawkeye understood that his apology was two-fold. Then, the question emerging slowly, Trapper asked, "Does the motorcycle have a name?"

His snarky response was instinctive. "Well, _B.J._ wanted to name it Bullet Shock, but _I_ said that was much too crass, so..."

Trapper nodded, serious.

He understood.

Hawkeye's throat closed up. Everything in his body felt tight and unpleasantly hot all of a sudden. Even though he had willfully chosen to impart the information to his friend, he hadn't anticipated how much it would hurt, how much more _real_ it would be once he'd shared the knowledge with another human being. No longer could he ignore it. No longer could he pretend that it didn't exist or that it wasn't slowly killing him every single day. He'd crossed a boundary, taken what had once belonged to Queen Mab and brought it out into the daytime where it could be examined in the sharp, revealing light of the sun.

"So does _he_ love _you_?"

Hawkeye licked and bit his lips, then turned away. There were tears building in his eyes again. "You know... A week ago, if you'd asked me that? I would've said not a chance. I'd have said, 'Who, B.J. Hunnicutt?'" He affected a funny voice, a higher version of his own natural timbre. "'Family man extraordinaire, A+ in fidelity, madly in love with his wife B.J. Hunnicutt? Ha! What a charmingly absurd notion!'"

"And now?"

Finally Hawkeye could joke no longer. Sadness consumed him. He was left empty. Tears no longer threatened him; they, like everything else, had been taken away.

"Now... Now I think— No, I _know_..." he corrected sharply. He took a quick, deep breath in. "He _does_ love me."

His eyes jumped to meet Trapper's, fierce, and defiant, as though expecting his friend to argue. Trapper stared calmly back.

"He loves me, Trap, he _loves_ me and I..." He choked. "I don't know if I can live with it."

"What?" Trapper exclaimed. Now he looked at Hawkeye like he'd gone bananas. "Hawk, what are you talkin' about? He loves you back, that's _great_!"

"It's the opposite of great! What am I supposed to _do_ with that, huh? I can't do _anything_! I love him and he loves me—fantastic! And how does that help me when I know I can never have him, when I know I'll always wish and wonder and dream and..." His words were coming out quicker now. He leaned over the island towards his friend. "I'll never be able to move on from this, don't you understand? I'll spend the rest of my life clinging to something that never was, the memory of a, of a 'could have been.' I'll never shake him."

"Do you really want to?"

"I don't want to be alone for the rest of my life," he answered. "And now... Alone is all I have to look forward to."

It was clear in Trapper's face that he wanted to push the issue further. Hawkeye took a deep gulp of his martini. All he wanted right now was to numb the pain with alcohol; talking more about it would only make the pain worse.

Trapper paused, seeming to reconsider. After a moment his expression lessened in intensity.

"You're not gonna be alone, Hawk," he said, smiling. "Louise and I will _adopt_ you before we ever let that happen."

Hawkeye laughed. The tightness in his stomach loosened.

"If you're going to be my newly lawful father," he said, "I'm gonna need at least three more drinks in me."

"Coming right up."

* * *

After several more drinks, and much in the way of reminiscing, the two men retired for the evening.

"You know..." Trapper paused on his way to the stairs. "If you want, I could sleep down here with you, set up some blankets on the floor or something. It'd be like being in the Swamp again for a night."

"No thanks," said Hawk with a smirk. "I want to be able to wear a white dress at my wedding."

Trapper rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Okay, okay. But come get me if you need anything, all right? I mean it. Just tap on the door."

With Hawkeye's assurance that he would do so, Trapper traipsed up the stairs to bed. Hawkeye found himself alone for the first time since his arrival. He took a moment to process everything that had happened: meeting Louise, the girls, reconnecting with Trapper, confiding in Trapper his feelings for B.J... All in all, an eventful day. A good day.

But he was well and truly exhausted now. By the time he laid his head down on the pillow, it took him mere seconds to fall asleep.

* * *

A bomb struck the earth. Everything shook. Hawkeye struggled to keep his footing. Another bomb, turning the mess tent into a crater. His eyes saw nothing but brown and green and red, his ears heard nothing but screams, dulled by the shrill ringing of a popped eardrum.

He squinted through the dust in the air. Bodies ran past him left and right. None were the one he was looking for. He stumbled forward, unsure what direction to go.

"Beej?" he yelled. He swung his head in a 360 degree circle. He saw no familiar faces. "Beej, where are you?"

Another bomb. He fell to the ground. The smoking, tattered remains of the Swamp rained down on him, tarp and wood and copper coil. He coughed.

"B.J.?" he called again. He began to crawl forward, ducking around blurry shapes of legs and bodies. " _Beej_!"

Another bomb, another ear-shattering boom.

Finally, through the dust and smoke, he saw him. B.J. was crouched over someone, a red cross medical bag in his hand. Hawkeye lurched to his feet. "B.J.!"

B.J.'s head swung around—and he was young. So impossibly young. Hair cut short and neatly combed, no mustache above his upper lip, a bright, attentive look in his eyes that was customary of those fresh off the plane. He raised a hand and waved it at him. He shouted something, but Hawkeye couldn't hear.

"What?" he yelled. He walked towards the other man.

B.J. waved again, the gesture bigger, more obvious. _Stay put_ , it said. He shouted again. Hawkeye still could not hear him, but he read the words from B.J.'s stupidly big mouth. _Wait. I'm coming to you_.

B.J. picked up the medical bag and ducked low, then ran towards Hawkeye. He skidded, sliding in mud that Hawkeye hadn't noticed before. He went down. Covered in the brown muck, he hurriedly got back up and ran the rest of the way to Hawkeye.

He grabbed at Hawkeye's arm.

"We have to get you laying down," he shouted, fighting to be heard over the still-falling shells.

Hawkeye was confused. "What? What are you talking about? There must be wounded, I have to—"

"You took a bad hit, Hawk, you're losing blood, a lot of it, fast."

Stunned, Hawkeye followed B.J.'s gaze and looked down at his chest.

There was a large piece of shrapnel sticking out of his heart. Blood gushed from the wound.

He collapsed to his knees, suddenly too weak to stand. B.J. fell to his knees beside him. His hands scrambled inside the bag.

"I've got you, Hawkeye, I've got you," he said. "You're going to be fine. Stay with me, Hawk, come on."

Gasping for air, Hawkeye fell onto his back. For a second he stared up at the blue sky. Then blue eyes. B.J.'s face was above him. Young, innocent, unsullied B.J.

Like being hit by a mallet, Hawkeye realized that he had never told this B.J. that he loved him. Here he lay dying, and B.J. would never know. He would never know that Hawkeye cherished every one of his smiles. That he lived for B.J.'s laughter. That he admired B.J. more than any man he'd ever met, and he inspired Hawkeye to be a better man too, just by being himself.

All this he would never know.

A whistle through the air. Then—

 _BOOM._ Post-op exploded. Debris fell over them. People screamed, nurses called out for aid. B.J. looked up, staring towards the wreckage.

"It looks bad," he shouted. "Hawk, I gotta go, there are patients in more critical condition than you." He got to his feet.

Panic dug its fingernails into Hawkeye's bleeding chest. No. He couldn't go, Hawkeye had to _tell_ him—

He gurgled, choking on the blood that now flooded up his throat, thick, warm, tasting of rust. B.J. grabbed the medical bag and ran off towards post-op. Hawkeye craned his neck to watch him. His heart raced. B.J. ran from one patient to the next, tending to all the wounded. Some part of Hawkeye wondered where the Colonel was, or Charles, or even Margaret. Why weren't they helping? Why was B.J. on his own to save everyone?

He felt the bomb coming before he heard it. He heard it before he saw it. He saw it only moments before it hit. He screamed B.J.'s name through the blood, screamed and screamed his warning, but B.J. did not hear, did not see, not before—

"Hawk! _Hawkeye_!"

The world shook violently.

"Come on, Hawkeye, wake up!"

He lunged upwards from the cot, his eyes flying open. It was hot, and dark, and the world was still shaking and—

"Beej?" he said. His face burned, sweat dripping from his brow. He grasped at the arms holding him. Already his fear was subsiding, the nightmare held at bay by his friend's touch. "B.J.?"

"Hawk, it's me," the voice said. Hawkeye blinked, trying to see through the dark. "It's Trapper."

Panic flared in him anew. "No!" he gasped. "No, Trapper, what—what are you doing here?" He dug his fingers into Trapper's arms. "You can't be here, they can't bring you back, they _can't_! You're supposed to be home! _Safe_! They— Oh no. No no no—"

"Hawk, it's okay, I'm safe!" Trapper kept a tight grip on him. "I'm safe, we both are. They didn't bring me back. You're in Boston with me, on my couch, remember?"

Finally it all came back to him. Still panting from the exertion of the nightmare, Hawkeye clung to Trapper as he worked to steady his breathing. Deep breaths, in and out.

Eventually his pulse grew even. He relaxed in Trapper's grip.

"Trap, I'm..." He took another deep breath. "I'm sorry." Then he realized something. "Oh god, the girls. Trap, I'm so sorry, are they—"

"They're fine, don't worry about it." Trapper squeezed his arms. "Louise knows how to handle it, she'll take care of them."

But Hawkeye was too full of remorse to be comforted. "I'll stay at a hotel from now on, I promise. I'm... God, I must have scared them so badly. I can't believe I—"

"Hey, you think I never woke up screaming?" Trapper interrupted.

Hawk's eyes met his friend's. The flood of words finally dried up.

Trapper gave a sarcastic huff. "What am I saying? I _still_ do sometimes. And what's been years for me has only been a week for you."

Now that the terror had passed, the night was quiet again, so quiet that Hawkeye could hear the sound of their breathing. His eyes had grown adjusted to the dim lighting as well. He could see Trapper perfectly now.

"So it never gets better?" he asked.

"It gets better. It just doesn't go away."

"How do you..." Hawkeye cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "How do you keep going?"

"My family. My family keeps me going. I don't think I could've survived without them."

Swallowing, Hawkeye looked away. He couldn't bear to name the obvious truth. That he didn't _have_ a family. That if Trapper couldn't survive without his wife and kids after one year in the war, how on earth was Hawkeye supposed to survive _alone_ after _three_ of them?

"You know, Hawk..."

Hawkeye wasn't looking at his friend, but he could hear the discomfort, the hesitance in his voice.

"Your dad's a swell guy and all, but... I think it's gonna take more than just him to keep you on your feet, you know what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, well," said Hawk. He felt keenly the absence of a martini glass in his hand. He rubbed his palms together instead. "My dad's all I've got."

"Maybe he doesn't have to be."

A crease knit itself between his eyebrows. He looked back at the other man. "What, you have a mail-order bride catalogue you want me to look at? I _knew_ you couldn't have snagged Louise all on your own, you dirty dog."

"Hawk, I'm serious."

"Well I don't know what you're talking about!"

"You said yourself that he loves you back. Why—"

Finally understanding, Hawkeye let out a laugh. A wide, disbelieving grin split his lips. "Oh no no no. _That's_ not gonna happen."

"Why not?" Trapper insisted. "C'mon, can't you... Can't you just talk to him? You said he loves you. Don't you think he wants to be with you too? I mean—"

"It doesn't matter." Hawkeye shook his head. "He's got a family. Like yours, Trap."

"Yeah, but he loves _you_."

"So? He also loves his _wife_. He loves his little _girl_. Even if I _wanted_ to steal him away from that, I don't think I could."

 _I don't think he'd let me,_ sat heavy in his chest, unspoken. The weight of those words pressed down on his heart, and before he could stop them, tears bubbled up and spilled from his eyes.

Then he was sobbing. Two strong arms wrapped around him and he curled like a ball into Trapper's embrace. Trapper held him as he wailed. They stayed like that until Hawkeye's tears dried up, some long while later.

* * *

Hawkeye spent a full week and a half with Trapper before the call of Crabapple Cove grew too strong to resist. Still, his time with Trapper had been exactly what he'd needed. He felt revived, refreshed. Ready to face the impossible task of living each day and surviving 'til the next. But he could say with certainty that he had every intention of keeping his promise—demanded of him by all four members of the McIntyre household—that he would come visit again soon.

By the time he was up in the air, he already missed them. He spent the entire plane ride home writing letters to Trapper and the girls.

Because he had been playing the visit by ear, Hawkeye hadn't bothered to inform his father of his return. He chose instead to keep it a surprise. He caught a cab at the airport the next town over, and rode it all the way to his father's house.

"Dad, I'm home!" he shouted, swinging the front door shut with a bang. He heard voices in the living room so he set down his suitcase and walked towards them. He rounded the corner and stepped through the open archway. "Did you—"

He stopped.

The first thing he noticed was that B.J. had shaved off his mustache.

The second thing he noticed was that B.J. was standing in his living room.


	21. Chapter 20

_A/N: Well... Still not the last chapter, but we're definitely getting close, folks. Wrapping it all up now. I hope this chapter was worth the wait! I can't tell you how much I appreciate every one of your comments last chapter. Love and hugs to you all._

* * *

Hawkeye was frozen on the threshold. B.J. stood by the fireplace with Dr. Pierce the senior, both with drinks in hand. They appeared to have been in conference with one another, but at Hawk's arrival, they turned to face him and fell silent.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from B.J. It had only been two and a half weeks since they'd been together, but it felt like a lifetime. B.J. seemed to be similarly stuck. Hawkeye heard his father make a goodbye to B.J., something about a movie in town, he didn't quite catch the words, and then before he knew it, he and B.J. were alone.

Dazed, he wasn't sure how many minutes passed in silence. _What are you doing here?_ he wanted to ask. _Why have you come?_ But his vocal chords refused to cooperate.

Finally B.J. turned away. He set his glass of whiskey down on the mantel. For a moment, the silence held. Then,

"I haven't slept... in two weeks." This was said casually, as though he were giving a report on the weather. He angled his body again towards Hawkeye. "Every time I close my eyes, I see Korea. And every time I open them again... I expect to see _you_. Then when I don't, I can't fall back asleep."

"So you flew all the way across the country to get some quality pillow time?" The words, when Hawkeye spoke them, sounded far away, like an echo from someone else's lips. B.J. took a step towards him.

"No," he said. "I flew all the way across the country because I realized that it's more than just not being able to sleep without you in the same room."

Hawkeye swallowed, in an effort to moisten his throat. "Oh yeah?"

B.J. nodded. Though he was no doubt aware of the effect he was having on Hawkeye, somehow he was managing to remain entirely nonchalant about the whole affair. Hawkeye would have hated him for it, if he didn't love him so goddamned much.

"Yeah."

"So... What _is_ it?"

"It's not being able to _live_ without you."

Hawkeye inhaled sharply.

Stepping closer again, B.J. said, "It's not being able to breathe without you near me. It's feeling this... this empty hole inside me, every day that I don't see you. I _need_ you, Hawkeye. More than I've ever needed anyone or anything. And there's something else too."

When he realized that B.J. was waiting to be prompted, he forced in a deep, steady breath. "What?"

B.J.'s eyes lit up with a smile. The sight stole away what little breath Hawkeye had left. It was radiant. Like looking at the sun, except there was no pain. There was only wonder, and beauty.

Without any fanfare, B.J. said, "I love you."

* * *

When Hawkeye had told Trapper that he _knew_ B.J. loved him in return, he'd meant it. Not until that very moment did he realize that doubt had still clung onto him. Some part of him had feared it was too good to be true, sure that he'd misread, misinterpreted, or even flat-out misremembered the moment of B.J.'s unspoken confession.

But now here they were, those three little words, given back to him more than two weeks later. A maelstrom of emotion took him over. The feelings were so intense he almost couldn't parse them out. There was relief, and joy, and something that made him want to weep. There was disbelief, exhilaration, triumph. But beneath all this was something far less pleasant, a sharp biting sensation that turned what ought to have been exaltation into angst.

 _ **Not being able to**_ **live** _ **without you...**_

"But..." He was unsure how to articulate the terrible feeling that had seized hold of him. "Peg—?"

Guilt entered B.J.'s countenance. But it was small in measure. This was clearly something he had already come to terms with.

"I know."

"But, Beej, you... You _love_ her," said Hawkeye. "You've _always_ loved her. All you ever _talked_ about was finally getting home so you could be with her again."

"It's been a long time since I truly wanted that, Hawk," B.J. said. "I'll admit, when the war ended? I thought... I thought I would make it work, you know? I thought everything would just... fall back into place somehow. I'd go home and fall in love with Peg all over again and... and get over _you_." He grimaced, the thought seeming to cause him pain. "And that's just what I tried to do. But I couldn't. I couldn't make it work, no matter how hard I tried."

He shook his head. "You know, I never realized how much I changed in Korea. When I got home, Peg didn't even recognize me. She recognized my face, but not me. And suddenly I realized... I didn't recognize me either. The _old_ me. The one that Peg married. I tried looking for him in the mirror, even shaved off my mustache to find him. But it didn't do a thing. That man was dead and gone. I _do_ still love Peg," he admitted, "but... almost like a sister. Not how it was before."

Hawkeye's mind was awhirl. He could hardly _breathe_ when B.J. was looking at him like that; how was he supposed to be able to _think_ , too?

 _ **Not being able to breathe without you...**_

And he _needed_ to think. That feeling of unease had yet to leave him, clawing for purchase in his stomach, gaining ground, when all his _heart_ wanted to do was leap at the chance that had been given him.

 _ **Feeling this... this empty hole inside me...**_

"So..." He licked his lips, searching for words. "So what you mean is... You mean to say—"

B.J. stepped towards him again, so that they were separated by only a foot or so. Hawkeye was struck by the realization that he could reach out and touch B.J.'s cheek if he wanted to, his chest, his lips. The simple knowledge of this turned his mind into an even bigger haze than it already was. His body tingled and grew warm, his fingers twitched with desire. They'd stood this close a hundred thousand times before, and never had it affected him this way.

But, he supposed, everything was different now.

"I mean to say..." B.J. smiled, and reached out to brush his thumb against Hawkeye's cheek. His heart pounded a death march in his chest. "I am in love with you, Benjamin Franklin 'Hawkeye' Pierce. Sorry I kept it to myself so long. I was being stupid, trying to do what I thought was the 'right' thing when really the right thing was right in front of me. I was an idiot." He grinned, the expression strangely boyish in the absence of his mustache. "But hey. Now I'm _your_ idiot. Assuming you'll still have me."

He settled his palm against Hawkeye's cheek and slowly, slowly, leaned forward. It was clear to Hawkeye from the gleam in his eyes and the smile still on his lips that this last statement had been made in jest. He had no real fear of Hawkeye rejecting him, not now.

 _ **I**_ **need** _ **you, Hawkeye**_ **.**

Hawkeye's heart pounded at the base of his throat. Then, just before B.J.'s lips would have touched his own, he pulled his head back.

B.J. froze.

The older man swallowed, but he couldn't find the words to speak.

"Hawk?"

Tongue darting between his lips, Hawkeye forced himself to take a step backwards, then another. B.J.'s hand slipped from his cheek, its owner staring at him with shock and confusion, even a hint of betrayal.

"Beej, I..." His voice rattled, scraping the edges of a parched throat. He swallowed again. His eyes flickered around the room, unable to settle upon the room's other hot-blooded occupant. He stared instead at the fireplace, and the coffee table, and his father's faded red armchair. "I'm worried that... that, you know..."

"No, I _don't_ know," was the rough reply. "Think you can clue me in?"

Finally his eyes found their way up, until he met B.J.'s gaze. It was clear that B.J. was hurt by his actions, but was trying to hide this feeling beneath impartiality until he could pass verdict on whatever Hawkeye had to say for himself.

"I'm worried..." Each word came out ragged, as though they'd been dragged from him kicking and screaming. "...that you're confusing codependency for love."

At this B.J.'s jaw popped open, his eyes widening in genuine shock. Then the fear hit, followed by embarrassment.

"Is that..." Now he was the one to swallow. He rocked back on his heels, until he had taken several steps away and the distance between them increased. "Are you saying that's what happened for you? You got home and realized you'd been confusing codependency for love?"

"No." Hawkeye shook his head, firm. "No, what I said to you that night by the minefield... That was real. All of it."

Anger blazed across the younger man's face now. His nostrils flared. A deep breath lifted his chest up and then down again, his hands clenching in and out of fists at his sides. Hawkeye tried not to flinch, recalling only too vividly the strength of those fists.

"So you can know _your_ mind, but I can't possibly know mine," B.J. snarked, an insincere smile twisting his lips. "You're unbelievable."

His friend's anger only served to spark the same in Hawkeye. "Oh, excuse me for having _doubts_ , Mr. I've Only Ever Loved Women!"

"Is that what this is about?" he demanded. "The fact that I never thought of a man this way before you? Because, Hawk—"

"No," Hawkeye interrupted with a huff. He shifted his weight back and forth between his feet. "No, that's not it."

"Then _what_?"

Hawkeye felt a mad cackle of disbelief coming on. Instead he exclaimed, "You've got a family, a _daughter_! You can't give that up after only two weeks! That's not the B.J. Hunnicutt I—" His mouth snapped shut.

B.J.'s eyes fixed on him with such intensity, such need, that he nearly choked.

"You what?"

His eyes leapt away. He felt like an animal cornered on the hunt: skittish, quick-pulsed, system flooded with adrenaline. "The... The point is," he stammered, "you haven't given it a fair chance! Lots of guys struggle to readjust to civilian life, that's _normal_. It doesn't mean you should abandon the missus and run off with the mistress!"

He froze, the sound of his own words chilling his blood. With a wince, Hawkeye slowly looked up at his friend.

He was unsurprised to be met by a veneer of ice.

"Are you telling me this as my _friend_ ," said B.J., and surely, Hawkeye thought, shivering, the temperature in the room must have dropped ten degrees merely from his tone, "or as my _mistress_?"

Another wince. He unconsciously stretched out a hand. "Beej, I didn't mean—"

"Is that really what you think of me?"

Hawkeye threw out his arms. His palms slapped down against his thighs. "Well, what choice are you giving me? There's a little girl a couple thousand miles from here who has the chance to grow up with a mommy _and_ a daddy, and you're going to take that away from her? Because after two years apart, you and Peg weren't able to fix everything in two _weeks_?"

Jaw clenched tight, B.J. continued to radiate pure, icy fury as stared at the shorter man.

"Huh," he said. "I guess I should've read the fine print on that declaration of love. Maybe then I would've seen 'One time only offer. Expires as soon as you leave Korea.' I'm sorry that I wasted your time." Then he was moving, storming past Hawkeye before the man could do more than gape.

Hawkeye recovered himself just as B.J. passed by him. He spun around, grabbing B.J. by the arm and yanking him to a halt out of sheer instinct.

"I— How _dare_ you!" he yelled. Not since Radar's interim as a patient had he felt such total, unadulterated hurt, hurt so strong that it had no choice but to manifest as anger. His fingers dug harder into B.J.'s arm, heedless of the bigger man's glare. "You think I'm saying all this because I don't love you? I love you more than life, air, Crabapple Cove on the 4th of July! I— You think I don't _want_ all the things you're offering? You think... You think it isn't _killing_ me inside to tell you to turn back before you ruin your life?"

A wave of heartbreak broke over him, washing away the rage. His grip loosened. He bit the inside of his lip, knowing that if he wasn't careful, he would start crying right here right now, in front of B.J., and that he could not do. It didn't particularly help that B.J. was no longer glaring at him, but simply... looking. Listening. Perhaps with a little heartbreak of his own in those blue eyes.

He bit down harder.

"Beej, believe me, I..." He dropped his hand. "This... This is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life."

A hand, strong and callused, shot forward and grabbed his. Hawkeye's heart gave a loud _thump_.

"Then don't," B.J. said. He laced his fingers with Hawkeye's and squeezed. "Don't send me away, Hawk. _This_ is where I belong. With _you_. And not because I'm suffering from codependency, and not because I'm too much of a coward to work things out with Peg. Because I love you. And you love me. And I know, without a shred of doubt in me, that we are meant to be together."

His other hand came up, cradling Hawkeye's cheek in his palm. The older man felt his lip tremble.

"The truth is, Hawk..." he said, fingers brushing over Hawkeye's skin. "I don't need you. I can breathe without you, and eventually I'll be able to sleep without you. I _can_ live without you. I just don't want to. And I know that it isn't ideal, of _course_ I don't want to do this to my child, but it will be better for Erin to have a healthy, _happy_ father. Not the sort of man I'd be if I couldn't be with you. I'd love to make the world a perfect place for Erin to live in, but it isn't. And maybe it's okay that she knows that. That she learns how messy and complicated life can be, but that everything will be all right if..." He drifted off as he stared into Hawk's eyes, seeming to take nourishment from them.

Somehow Hawkeye summoned the coherency to speak. "If what?"

B.J.'s thumb stroked, and then he smiled. "If you follow where your heart leads you," he said. One corner of his mouth quirked upwards in acknowledgement of the triteness of this statement. But even the cliché nature of the sentiment could not lessen its impact. "The way that mine led me to you."

Hope bloomed in Hawkeye like the first flower of spring. Too much, too strong. He began to shake, trying not to give in to the luminous glow inside of him, the one suddenly giving life to a vision of the future, a future with B.J. in it, B.J. at his side, holding his hand as he was now. Holding him, touching him, loving him. Such a thing wasn't possible, it couldn't be.

"Beej," he said, looking deep into his friend's eyes so that he would understand. B.J. lowered his hand from Hawkeye's cheek, and he felt instantly cold and bereft without it. "I can't leave Crabapple Cove. And not just because I don't want to. My dad's getting old, you know, and he's gonna need—"

"I'm not asking you to leave."

Caught off guard, Hawkeye blinked. "No?"

"I was getting tired of warm weather anyways," was the cheeky response.

"But..." His brow furrowed. "What about Erin?"

"We'll work it out," B.J. said simply, with all the assurance in the world.

"But how can you—"

"I'm telling you, it'll be all right. Peg's a good woman; she'll help us make it work."

Still unconvinced, Hawkeye opened his mouth to make another protest.

"Hawk, do you trust me?"

Hawkeye's breath stopped. His mouth slid shut again, eyes flicking back and forth between B.J.'s, heart pounding in his chest. Wordlessly, he nodded.

B.J. smiled. "Okay then. So? What do you say? Will you have me?"

Despite the lighthearted tone of the questions, Hawkeye could sense the fear lying in wait behind them. Fear he'd caused by rejecting B.J., the love of his life, in the first place.

 _Yes!_ he could have shouted from the rooftops, in every language he knew how to say it. (Three: English, Spanish, and Korean.) _Yes!_ he could have said, a million times over, meaning it more and more with each repetition.

He stared at B.J. from less than a foot away, feeling his mouth grow dry and his pulse quicken its already fevered pace. That single word lay ready and waiting on the tip of his tongue. His eyes swept across the bridge of B.J.'s nose, the openness of his brow, the honest vulnerability in his eyes, the strange, empty space above his mouth.

And then he was darting forward, crashing his lips against the other man's, unable to wait a second longer.

B.J. gave a little gasp, stumbling slightly as he sought to regain his balance. Soon he found it, and then he was leaning forward, kissing Hawkeye back with equal fervor. Hawkeye moaned, his mouth opening eagerly to B.J.'s tongue. His heart beat a frantic rhythm against his ribs, and he grabbed at B.J.'s shirt, bunching the cloth in his hands.

B.J.'s hands went in turn to his face, holding him, steadying him, pulling him even closer. His kiss continued to ravage Hawkeye, as though B.J. sought to taste every part of him, to devour him, and Hawkeye gave as good as he got. Everything inside of him was on fire. All thought had been driven from his mind, everything beyond the need for the man in front of him, the man he'd longed for, craved for, would gratefully have died for.

Could they really have gone so long without this? It seemed a dream now, that life where they never touched beyond the bounds of friendship, where they did not clutch or caress or consume one another, where words were spoken _with_ love but never _of_ it.

Heat. Passion. Electricity. Their lips melded again and again, with no care for the passage of time, nor indeed their own need for air. When finally they broke apart, Hawkeye's chest heaved up and down, and he spent a good long minute replenishing his lungs' supply of oxygen. B.J., he was gratified to notice, was similarly affected.

When they'd each gotten control of their breathing, they stared at one another. Hawkeye drank in the sight of the beautiful, brilliant, tremendous man before him, and though he could not think for the life of him what he'd done to deserve such a friend and partner, he was grateful.

Two blue eyes shone back at him, full of their own wonder and amazement and gratitude. Butterflies fluttered to life in Hawkeye's belly. He almost laughed out loud from the utter ridiculousness of it. Here he was, a man well into adulthood, who had just made out with the person he was going to spend the rest of his life with, and he was getting _butterflies_ like some hormonal, pre-pubescent teenager.

B.J. grinned. "What?" he asked, no doubt seeing the amused look in Hawk's eyes.

Smiling, he shook his head. "Nothing. Just... You _love_ me."

"And _you_ love _me_ ," B.J. pointed out teasingly.

"Well there's no need to _brag_ about it, you'll get a big head," said Hawkeye, his smile refusing to quit. "Or, I'm sorry, should I say _bigger_ head, Mr. All My Hats And Shoes Have To Be Specially Ordered Because I'm Secretly a Descendant of Bigfoot."

"Hey," said B.J. "You know what they say about men with big feet."

The corners of Hawk's eyes crinkled, and he grinned salaciously. "Oh yeah?" he said, his voice low and flirtatious.

"The better to _stomp_ you with," said B.J., and then, before Hawkeye could offer another witty rejoinder, he reached forward and tugged Hawkeye into another burning kiss.


	22. Chapter 21

_A/N: Sigh. Well... I can say for sure that I don't deserve to have such wonderful, devoted readers as you folks! But I'm grateful that I do. After much delay: here's the newest installment! Thanks to all who have stuck with me for the duration of this story so far. Ya'll are the best._

* * *

Hugging Hawkeye goodbye at the airport was only marginally easier this time around. Now that he had Hawkeye back, the last thing he wanted to do was leave again. Hawkeye even asked him to stay— _cajoled_ , more like it.

 _Just for a week_ , he said. _One week_. But B.J. knew it was best that he sort things out with Peg as soon as possible. Staying a week, even a few days, would be long enough for he and Hawkeye to fall back into a routine, and would make it that much harder to go.

Still. It was hard to take the last few steps through the gate when Hawkeye was biting his lip and staring at B.J. with those damn watery eyes.

"It'll only be a couple of days," he promised. He strove not to show how much his own heart was breaking. _One_ of them had to be strong about it.

Hawkeye nodded, but he didn't look very comforted. "Just until you sort things out with Peg," he said, something hollow in the words.

"Hey." He reached out a hand and clasped Hawkeye's shoulder. Not quite as intimate as the hand-holding he would rather be doing, but the airport terminal was a fairly crowded, public place, and compromises had to be made. "There's nothing to worry about on that front, all right? I told you, I don't feel that way about her anymore. You are the _only_ person I want to spend the rest of my life with."

At this, a smile cracked at the edges of Hawkeye's lips. "I know," he said. B.J.'s heart soared at the incontestable _honesty_ in Hawk's voice. He truly, truly believed that. "I'm not worried about that, about you changing your mind. I know you're gonna come back."

"So?" B.J. teased, trying to draw the rest of Hawkeye's smile out of hiding. "What's with the mopey face, Jerry Lewis?"

"I'm worried that I'll miss you too much," admitted Hawkeye, with a hint of self-mockery.

B.J. swallowed. Licking his lips, he felt his eyes start to well up. So much for smiles and a calm goodbye. He shook his head. "Nah," he said, taking a subtle sniff. "No need to worry about that. Your dad made me a promise to nail one of your boots to the floor for every day I'm gone. You'll hardly notice I'm not there."

Hawkeye let out a loud, surprised laugh. "I can always count on you to take care of me, Dean," he snarked.

"Exactly." B.J. gave an easy smile. "Just leave eeeeeverything to me, Hawk. I'll have you pierced and tattooed and married to a hooker in no time."

"I'm already Pierced," Hawkeye joked. "And are you trying to tell me a little something about your extra-curricular activities?"

"Hey, you don't waste good looks like _these_ , not when there are med school loans to be paid."

He and Hawkeye shared a grin, but Hawkeye's expression quickly became something far more somber. His gaze, if anything, grew more intense. B.J. tilted his head in question.

"I really want to kiss you right now," Hawkeye answered in a voice that was low and ragged and sent shivers racing down B.J.'s spine. Warmth pooled in his belly. "I hate that I can't."

"I know. Me too." He forced his mouth into a smile. "Someday."

Hawk's eyes crinkled at the corners, if a little sadly. "Someday," he echoed.

B.J. opened his mouth to say something else, when they both heard the last call for his flight.

"They're playing my song," he said. He hoisted his bag up, slinging the strap over one shoulder.

Before he registered the movement, Hawkeye swept him into a bone-crushing embrace. He released the bag immediately and threw his arms around Hawkeye in return. Fresh tears sprang to his eyes as he buried his face in Hawkeye's shoulder and felt one strong hand cradle the back of his head. _Only a few days_ , he reminded himself, the promise becoming his own mantra.

Pulling back slightly, he placed his lips by Hawkeye's ear. " _I love you_ ," he whispered, so deep it was nearly a growl. Then he turned about, hefted his bag higher, and was gone without a glance back.

* * *

B.J. stayed in California for three days. It took only one to draw up an agreement with Peg in regards to joint custody: Erin would stay with her mother, but B.J. would get her for summers and alternating holidays, as the general rule. The other two days were purely out of B.J.'s desire to spend even a little bit more time with his daughter.

He didn't regret his decision, didn't second guess himself for a second, but willingly separating himself from Erin was by far the hardest part of it all. Second hardest had been stepping foot into the house that he and Peg had bought together, while on separate continents—the house that was meant to be _theirs_ , and that Peg would now have to sell. In a fit of guilt he had offered to provide Peg with enough extra money in child support that she could keep the house, an offer that, in hindsight, he probably shouldn't have made before consulting his new life partner, as he wasn't actually sure he could hack it.

The point was moot, as Peg had laughed in his face when he suggested it. Her laugh was not unkind, but it wasn't exactly kind either.

"We can't stay here," she'd said as they watched Erin chasing bugs in the front yard. "The rooms are full of ghosts."

B.J. didn't say anything to that, not even the apology itching on his tongue. He knew yet another apology would only annoy her, and then make her feel guilty for being annoyed with him.

No, he'd been wrong. Hurting Peg was the second hardest part.

Peg was a smart woman. While most of the other boys in high school had been taken with her beauty, B.J. had been taken with her mind. Sure, her beauty too; he was still a teenage boy with raging hormones. But it hadn't been Peg's attractive figure or stunning features that turned his head. It was her wit. The sharp and direct way that she answered questions in their History class. The way her biting sarcasm cut through the self-inflated egos of the boys who hit on her. The way she always had a smart remark ready and waiting to go.

He thinks, seeing her now, that she'd known their marriage was doomed even before he had. When he'd stepped off the plane and onto American soil for the first time in two years, Erin had run up to him, arms open, the cry of "Daddy!" on her lips. B.J. had wept without shame right there at the airport, a grin splitting his cheeks so wide it hurt.

Peg had stayed back, waiting. Only when B.J. stepped forward, Erin perched on one hip, did she meet him for a chaste kiss and a "We've missed you." No 'Welcome home' or 'I love you.' B.J. thinks, looking back on that moment now, that there had been a quiet resignation, or perhaps acceptance in her eyes. As though she knew already what it would take him two weeks to learn. But maybe that was only his overactive imagination, he didn't know.

Still. Peg was a smart woman. And though she was clearly hurt, and bitter, she was smart enough to know that B.J. was not at fault, and that nothing could change what Korea had done to him, to _them_. She was smart enough to put her daughter's needs before her own and share custody with B.J., knowing that her own bruised feelings were not a reason to deprive her child of a loving father.

B.J. thought that, if they ever met, Peg and Hawkeye would like each other very much.

* * *

Hawkeye met him at the airport after his flight back. Heart pounding with sheer joy and love, B.J. went in for a kiss... before remembering where they were, _who_ they were.

 _Right_. He drew back and swallowed, ignoring the gut-punch of this realization. _Not Peg. Can't kiss in public. Right._

But that was okay, because Hawkeye made it up to him later that night.

* * *

The three men of the Pierce-Hunnicutt household fell into an easy rhythm. In the mornings, B.J. woke up to the press of a warm body against his. He would nuzzle against the shoulder in front of him, laugh at the grumble that was his answer, get out of bed and get dressed. He would meet Daniel Pierce in the kitchen for breakfast: sometimes cereal, sometimes toast, _always_ coffee that didn't taste like day-old tar.

Sometimes they would sit silently, but more often they would talk. Things had been easy between them from the start, much to B.J.'s happy surprise. When he'd first arrived in Crabapple Cove, and, in Hawkeye's absence, explained his intentions to Dr. Pierce like a hero straight out of a romance novel, asking his intended's father for her hand in marriage, he'd expected judgment, disapproval. It was one thing for a man to know of his son's proclivities, and another to have them shoved in his face. Especially when the man doing the shoving was married and, by all previous accounts, did not share his son's proclivities.

It had been a blessing then, when Daniel Pierce had simply listened, allowing B.J. to make his case. By the time B.J. finished, his palms were sweating, his heart racing a mile a minute. What if Hawkeye's father didn't approve? Hawk would never—

But Dr. Pierce the senior had nodded, and smiled, clasped his hand and said, "Make him happy." This followed by a quizzical, "You know, B.J., I always pictured you with a mustache. I reckon you'd look good with one, you should try it out," thus sending B.J. into fits of outrageous laughter.

Their talks over breakfast were always a good way to start the day.

Hawkeye would stumble in at the tail end of the meal, pajamas rumpled, the look of a zombie about him until he got his first shot of caffeine. B.J. loved seeing him like this. It was nothing like their mornings in Korea, when sleeping in was rarely an option and the look in his eyes before coffee was distinctly more haunted and world-weary. B.J. often could not resist the urge to kiss the sleepy pout right off of Hawkeye's lips, laughing when Hawkeye simultaneously swatted him away and kissed him back, as if he simply couldn't help himself.

Then, if it was a weekday, the elder Pierce would leave for work while Hawkeye and B.J. settled in for the day. Both men knew they couldn't go long without getting jobs of their own, or a place of their own for that matter, but they felt they'd earned at least a short vacation first. Some days Hawkeye took B.J. on tours around town, his spirit coming alive as he narrated their surroundings to B.J., regaling his partner with many a story of his happy days of youth. Other days they stayed in and merely relaxed in each other's company.

About an hour before Hawkeye's father was due back, they would start dinner. B.J. had quickly taken over this task, upon discovering precisely how useless Hawkeye was in the kitchen on only his second day there. Building an illegal still and mixing martinis evidently had no correlation to one's ability to prepare edible food. He gave Hawkeye the easiest tasks, measuring ingredients, chopping vegetables, and never let him anywhere near the stove or the spices.

And if one or two of B.J.'s dinners turned out slightly burnt, well, that was not a reflection of B.J.'s abilities, but rather a reflection of Hawkeye's impressive talent for distraction. He was very fond of distracting B.J., in a myriad of ways.

After Dr. Pierce got home, the three men would share dinner. After dinner was drinks, and games. Cards, chess, boards games. Usually B.J. and Hawkeye played each other while Daniel read his book. Sometimes B.J. sat back and watched as Hawkeye was trounced by his father and proceeded to whine for the rest of the evening.

Some days B.J. spoke less, missing Erin.

Some days Hawkeye drank more, remembering Korea.

Every night they learned each in other in newer and newer ways.

Then there were the nightmares. Most nights passed without incident, more than they had dared hope for. But sometimes not even the comforting weight of B.J.'s arm over his waist was enough to protect Hawkeye's subconscious. And sometimes the lean, familiar body held tight against his own was not enough to spare B.J.'s. Any time that a nightmare woke one of them, it woke both of them, and together they rode out the tremors and the terrors and the tears, and battled their way back to an easier sleep.

* * *

After little more than a month of rest and the exploration of new love, Hawkeye and B.J. both found jobs at the local hospital. It was an adjustment, after the meatball surgery of Korea, but they helped one another keep their footing.

All was well.

B.J. began to think that nothing could alter the comfortable routine he and Hawkeye had developed. It was a week before Thanksgiving, the first holiday he would get to have Erin, when he was proved wrong.

He and Hawkeye were just finishing the preparations for dinner—Dr. Pierce upstairs, changing from his work clothes into casual ones—when the doorbell rang, followed by a purposeful knock.

"I'll get it," said Hawkeye. "Unless you think you'll miss me too much?"

B.J. shook his head, but he was grinning, unable to resist the flirtatious gleam in his friend's eyes.

"I think the chicken and I will survive a minute or two without you," he said, waving a piece of chicken stuck on a fork threateningly in Hawkeye's direction. The smaller man leapt out of the way and shot him an exaggerated look of betrayal. His grin widened.

Another knock came at the door, louder.

"Coming!" Hawkeye shouted. He pecked a kiss on the corner of B.J.'s lips and then hurried out of the kitchen, towards the foyer. B.J. shamelessly watched his lover's retreating figure before returning his attention to the food. He continued to ready the plates for dinner, Hawkeye's loud humming of an operatic piece his background music.

"Doctors Pierce, Pierce, and Hunnicutt, open twenty-four hours a day," he heard Hawkeye announce, even before he had reached the door. Then the _shick_ of a lock and the twist of a knob, a door swinging open. "What's your symp—"

The sudden silence made B.J.'s heart _boom_ inside his chest. His pulse skittered forward as the silence lingered on.

Wrong. Something was wrong.

Wiping his hands on a towel, B.J. tried to ignore his racing pulse. "Hawk," he called out, heading towards the front of the house, as casual as a man could be. "Who is it—?"

The question wasn't even fully out before he saw exactly who was at the door, and his steps slowed. As though in a dream, he slowly walked the last few steps until he was standing right beside his partner. He managed to spare a glance for Hawkeye, only to see that the man was paralyzed, discomfort and fear lining every inch of his lovely face. On instinct, he reached to hold Hawkeye's hand. Then, remembering their audience, his fingers curled in on themselves and fell in a loose fist at his side instead. He faced forward.

"Peg?"


	23. Chapter 22

_A/N: So! How many of you had forgotten I even exist? Well anyways... To be perfectly honest, this is not my favorite chapter, but eventually I had to ignore my perfectionist tendencies and just go ahead and post this, because I DO have a couple of chapters coming up that I'm greatly looking forward to. All my love and thanks to those who have taken the time to read this, and especially those who went the extra mile and left reviews. They truly mean the world to me._

* * *

The toddler holding Peg's hand let out a squeal, released her mother's hand, and flung herself forward. "Daddy!"

Instinct took over. B.J. knelt down to catch the girl up in his arms.

"Whoa!" he said, sweeping Erin into the air. "Well hello there. How's my angel doing?" She giggled. Having his daughter so near filled B.J. with immeasurable joy. But not even this elation could fully counteract the serious, almost nervous look on Peg's face. His stomach twisted.

Erin seemed content just to be held in her father's arms, so B.J. turned his attention to his former wife.

"Peg, what... what are you doing here?" he asked. "We agreed I'd meet you at the airport, and besides, you're a week early."

Even as he said it, he knew that wasn't the situation. Peg hadn't miscalculated the date or forgotten their arrangement. This was something else, something big enough to compel her to bring Erin early, and to accompany her all the way to the Pierces' house, something B.J. knew could not have been easy for her. An assumption greatly supported by the fact that she couldn't seem to even look at Hawkeye. Any time her gaze drifted to him, she immediately looked away again. She looked at B.J. instead, hands fidgeting with the sleeve of her blouse.

Before B.J. had any further time to guess at the calamity forthcoming—he had never seen her so uncertain, so shaken in her self-confidence before—Peg blurted out, "We've come to live here."

It was then that B.J. noticed three suitcases sitting on the porch.

Peg's eyes widened. "Not in this house," she said hurriedly. "But... here in Maine. Crabapple Cove." She spoke the name as though taste-testing it for the first time. "You see, I... I've been thinking lately how silly it is for Erin to have to fly all the way across the country to see her father when, really, she should be able to see him whenever she wants and you know I don't have any family left in San Francisco so I thought, what are we doing here? Why don't we just move to Maine?"

By the time she stopped to catch her breath, her eyes were watering. As if she expected them to tell her that, no, she couldn't move to _their_ town. Or perhaps they were merely the tears of Atlas asking for help in carrying the burden on his shoulders.

Peg continued. "And I know things will be... difficult for us, all, and I know it will take some adjustment, but I... I think this is the _right_ thing for Erin and that makes it the right thing for me and I only hope that you feel the same way because our daughter deserves to grow up with both of her parents, not just one, so that's... why we're here."

B.J. felt such a confusing mix of emotions that he was quite immobilized. Erin on his hip, Hawkeye at his side—and _heavens_ only knew what _he_ thought of all this, because B.J. could not for the life of him stop staring at the woman on their porch. The silence held. Everyone, even little Erin, was frozen in place, as though time had simply ceased to function on this particular doorstep on this particular day.

"Uh."

As was so often the case, it took Hawkeye to wake B.J. from the spell. He breathed himself back to reality and turned his head just in time to see Hawkeye's hesitant but empathetic smile as he said,

"Would you like to come inside?"

* * *

Given that B.J. still had Erin hanging off of him, Hawkeye took Peg's elbow and directed her towards the couch in the living room. She seemed more at ease with the contact than B.J. would have imagined. A sign, he felt, of how deep in shock she was. This was clearly a decision she had made quite suddenly, likely in a peak of emotion. Making her plan into a reality seemed to have had a numbing effect, her own actions leaving her stunned.

Once Peg was situated, Hawkeye went back outside to retrieve the luggage. B.J. would have helped, but he didn't feel that Peg should be left alone just yet. And, truth be told, he wasn't yet done staring at her in cautiously optimistic wonderment.

Now that his shock was beginning to wear off, he was overwhelmed by all that this could mean. Tears welled in his eyes at the thought of living so close to his daughter again. Of having the chance to, not merely watch her grow up from afar, but help raise her.

"Daddy," the little girl whispered in his ear. He turned to her with a big smile, clearing his throat to hide away the tears.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Do you like my dress?" she said, still whispering, as though they were in secret conference together. "Mommy picked it special."

B.J. bounced her once on his knee, getting a look at the pink and white flowery garment. Pink had always been Peg's best color, and it looked as though the same would be true of their daughter.

"Oh, I like it very much," he said. "You look just like a princess."

She grinned. "Really?"

"Really," he whispered back.

Erin fell quiet then, so B.J. turned his attention back up. He didn't yet know what he would say, what he _should_ say. All he knew was that Peg was sitting there in pained, awkward silence, and it was his job to do something about it.

Just as he opened his mouth, a clomping of footsteps on the stair interrupted him. He felt a split moment of panic, a single thought racing through his mind— _Not before Hawkeye gets back_.

But sure enough, Dr. Daniel Pierce stepped into the living room while his son was still occupied with the suitcases, and B.J. was left to handle the situation on his own. Peg stood in a rush when she saw their new company, looking even more uncomfortable than before.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," said Dr. Pierce before B.J. had a chance to speak. He sent a knowing glance between B.J. and Peg, a kind but mischievous gleam in his eyes that was only too like his son. "Came down because I smelled chicken. Had no idea something much finer was to be found in the living room."

While Peg stared at the older man, mouth slightly agape, he grinned and extended a hand. She put hers in his out of sheer instinct, only for him to take tender hold of it and wrap not one but both of his hands around hers. She remained speechless, and B.J. watched her cheeks grow pinker.

"Allow me to introduce myself," said Dr. Pierce. "I'm Daniel Pierce, the head and honcho of this household. And unless I'm much mistaken, you, young lady, can be none other than Miss Peg Hunnicutt."

"Well, y-yes," said Peg, quite obviously at a loss for how to respond. "It's lovely to meet you, sir."

"Oh no, my dear," he said, "you must not use that word unless it is to describe your _own_ loveliness."

As Peg was again rendered speechless, it was at this very moment that the younger Dr. Pierce reentered the room. As though this was the cue he'd been waiting for—B.J. had a feeling that this was _precisely_ the case—Daniel Pierce then turned to B.J. with a sly look and said,

"Married to this vision of beauty and you choose my gangly, unshaven son instead?"

The other three adult persons in the room froze.

"And here I thought you a man of sense, B.J.," Daniel continued amiably, as though he had not noticed the sudden increase of tension in the room. He looked back at Peg. "Why, were I but a younger man..."

Peg stared at the man with wide eyes and a dropped chin. B.J., for his part, could feel his heart pounding beneath his ribs, his stomach turning over and over again like a washing machine. What was Dr. Pierce _thinking_? Had he lost control of his _senses_? Why else make such a terribly awkward remark, if not to twist the knife further into the wound that he, Peg, and Hawkeye shared?

Hawkeye was the first to regain his vocal capacities, and did so with a horrified, angry exclamation of "Dad!" This would have been followed, B.J. was sure, by a long and passionate scolding, had they not first been interrupted by a very unexpected sound.

An abrupt burst of laughter from Peg.

Both Hawkeye and B.J. swung to stare at her. She had placed a hand over her mouth, evidently shocked at her own outburst, but even this could not hide her bewildered, somewhat disbelieving, but utterly bemused grin. She met eyes first with B.J. then with Hawkeye, grinning all the while, unable to contain herself. Hawkeye's relieved smile in return was immediate, and B.J. felt that he observed between them a moment of bonding over the universality of _parents_. The tension drained from the room, as though all they had needed from the start was Daniel Pierce's starkly blunt, but eminently kind, acknowledgment of the elephant in the room.

"And this must be little Erin!" said Dr. Pierce, walking closer to B.J. and the girl in question, looking for all the world like nothing of significance had just occurred.

"Uh, yes," said B.J., hoisting Erin again onto his hip and standing up. He took a moment to clear his throat, then held Erin a little tighter against him so she would not be afraid. "This is my daughter, Erin. Erin, this is Dr. Pierce, he's Daddy's..." He paused, uncertain what word to put next. "Friend," he settled on, though he hoped one day to explain how very much more the man was to him than that. Perhaps not a father, but father-in-law certainly. And, in his dearest wishes, a grandfather to Erin.

But now was not the time for that. Instead, "And Hawk," he said, turning slightly to face his partner. "As you two haven't been formally introduced yet, may I present to you Erin Hunnicutt, the prettiest little princess I know _I've_ ever set eyes on."

Hawk's gaze met his for a brief second, and B.J. saw that his eyes were glistening with undisguised affection. The look was not a new one anymore, but it was still new enough that B.J.'s heart fluttered inside his chest. He swallowed, then turned his face towards his daughter.

"And Erin, sweetie, this is Hawkeye. He was with me all that long time that I was away, do you remember?"

She nodded her head minutely.

"Well, he's Daddy's very special friend, and even though I'm not away anymore, he's going to stay with me for a very, _very_ long time. Can you say hi to him for me?"

Erin nestled herself closer against B.J.'s side, but nonetheless turned her head towards Hawkeye and gave a quiet, "Hi."

Hawkeye smiled his beautiful, warm, uniquely Hawkeye smile and approached her. "Hello," he returned, a hint of mischief in his voice, not enough to frighten, only enough to encourage a shy young girl to come out of her shell. B.J.'s chest swelled with pride. "It is a pleasure to meet you, your highness." He lowered his voice, leaning closer to her. "I must tell you, I have traveled..."

In a humorous voice, Hawkeye went on to describe his fictional exploits in other countries, dining in exotic courts and meeting foreign royals, and ultimately confirming B.J.'s declaration that Erin was the prettiest princess he'd ever seen. B.J. zoned out of the details of this speech, focused instead on the soothing, rumbling timbre of Hawkeye's voice and the entertained giggles of his adolescent child. By the end of it, he could not have told you exactly what gold Hawkeye had spun out of straw or whether Erin fessed up to not being a real princess after all, but he _could_ tell you that he was more in love with both of them than he ever had been before.

It wasn't until a short time later, when Peg had taken her daughter back into her own arms and then mentioned their need of a hotel to stay in, that the awkwardness reemerged.

"Certainly not!" said Daniel Pierce at once. "B.J.'s daughter and her mother stay at a hotel when there is plenty of space in this house? No no. You'll both stay here, of course."

"Oh, uh," stammered Peg, glancing quickly between B.J. and Hawkeye, who had turned to look at each other with wide eyes. As before, her gaze could rest on Hawkeye less than a second before she wrenched it away. "No, Mr. Pierce, I don't believe—"

"Eh, _Dr._ Pierce, but let's not split hairs." The man's grin made clear that he was only teasing her. "Oh, do say yes, my dear. Make an old man happy."

Obviously still uncertain of what to do, Peg sent a questioning look towards B.J.. In her expression he could see a glimmer of hope that had come into being as Daniel continued to insist. It was this, the realization that Peg actually _liked_ the idea, that caused B.J.'s own panic to abate, and he took a moment to stop, breathe, and fully consider Daniel's proposal.

What he found was that he rather liked the idea too.

What had initially sounded like a recipe for hurt and disaster seemed more and more appealing to him by the second. To have Erin here, at home, with him. To have Peg close at hand, for Erin's sake, as well as his own. Peg and Hawkeye together might be cause for concern, but he still felt that, if only they could overcome the painful circumstance that tied them together, they would get along in splendid fashion. Perhaps frequent exposure to one another was exactly what they needed to make that happen. And if, for any reason, things did _not_ work out, they could easily set Peg and Erin up a hotel until they found a home of their own.

But if it _did_ work out...

Still meeting Peggy's stare, B.J. gave a small smile and a nod, one that said, _Whatever you want. I'm okay with it._

"Are you... are you quite sure?" asked Peg, turning back to look at Dr. Pierce. Her eyes flicked briefly again towards the younger Pierce. "We won't be an imposition?"

Daniel turned to his son, arms outstretched. "Come, Hawkeye, back your father up! We would never turn family out of the house, would we?"

Hawkeye, who until this point had seemed frozen in a mixture of discomfort and apprehension, now gave a sigh and let his features relax. "No," he agreed. "Of course not." He directed his—only somewhat uncomfortable—smile towards Peg as he said, "Please, you should stay with us. All family of B.J.'s is family of ours as well, and family doesn't stay at a hotel."

"Hawk," said B.J., stepping closer to the other man and placing a hand on his arm. He kept his voice low, though he knew everyone could still hear him. "Are you sure? Because you don't have to—"

"I know," said Hawkeye. His smile softened as he clasped B.J.'s hand in his. "It's what I want."

"Well," said Peg, loudly enough to break through the tension gathered in the room. She put on a smile and looked down at the girl on her hip. "Did you hear that, darling? We're going to stay with Daddy. What do you think of that?"

"So he won't go away again?"

A pain as though his heart were being chiseled at hit B.J. full force. Ashamed, he stared down at the floor as Peg and Erin continued their conversation back and forth. The hand in his tightened. He looked up into Hawkeye's loving, supportive gaze and forced a smile of thanks.

"Let me show you ladies to your room," said Daniel Pierce. Thus he led Peg and Erin out of the room and up the stairs, saying, "You don't mind sharing, do you? As you'll see, there is..." The party of three disappeared into the second story of the house, their conversation lost to prying ears.

Now that they were alone, Hawkeye asked, "You all right, Beej?"

"Are you?" he returned.

Hawkeye sighed, and looked towards the stairs. For a moment neither man said anything. Then, "We managed to pull each other through a war in one piece," said Hawkeye. "Well, two pieces, you know, one you and one me. So, really, I mean, uh... living with two persons of the opposite sex ought to be easy going in comparison. What could possibly go wrong?"

Just like that, the tension between them snapped, replaced by a more familiar camaraderie. B.J. laughed.

"Remember I've _lived_ with you for over two years," he pointed out.

Hawkeye adopted a look of offense. "Are you suggesting my living habits are not suitable for female company?"

With a tug, B.J. directed Hawkeye towards the kitchen, where the abandoned dinner waited to be dealt with. While they walked, he said, "For now I'll graciously overlook your tendency to leave dirty underwear laying about. First I'm going to teach you about the joys of child-proofing..."


	24. Chapter 23

_A/N: I'd planned to have a few more scenes in this chapter, but I managed to get this much done and my next couple of weeks are very busy so I figured I'd go ahead and publish this now, before I get stalled again. Thank each and every one of you for your continued support. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

The following weeks were not the happiest of B.J.'s life. Thanksgiving, which ought to have been a warm family affair, was instead awkward and tense. The days before and after the holiday were no better. Still, every day he reminded himself how lucky he was to no longer be in Korea and to have Erin so close to him again. This was often enough to get him through.

But sometimes it wasn't quite so easy to ease the tightness in his chest. He felt stretched thin, able to do nothing but watch as two of the people he loved most in the world transformed into mere wisps of themselves. Never had Peg been so quiet and diminutive. Never had Hawkeye been so accommodating and serious. In fact, B.J. hadn't thought it _possible_ for Hawkeye to make as few jokes and snarky remarks as he had of late. They'd tested this very theory in Korea once and the experiment had proven exactly how difficult it was for Hawkeye to restrain himself. However, that wasn't what seemed to be happening. Hawkeye wasn't stifling his class clown impulses; he'd lost them altogether.

Well, not _all_ of them. Sometimes, most especially when he and B.J. were alone, B.J. would receive tastes and tidbits of the man's usual biting wit. But all too often, with Peg so near at hand, Hawkeye was like a dried-up well. All that was left was the consummate professional, a helpful, respectable man and doctor, no humor in him.

This version of Hawkeye made B.J. more uncomfortable than he cared to admit.

But he powered through it, knowing that the man he loved was still there, knowing that, in many ways, he was at fault for causing that man to retreat behind vacant eyes and polite turns of phrase. He certainly didn't _blame_ Hawkeye for the way he'd been acting. Only missed him, and hoped the emotional standoff between he and Peg would soon end. The two tiptoed around one another, avoiding contact whenever possible, and then avoiding conversation whenever it wasn't.

To add insult to injury, Erin had grown more reserved with Hawkeye than she'd been at their first meeting. She clung to her parents most of the time, and appeared happy enough around Daniel Pierce, but Hawkeye she shied away from. B.J. felt sure that this was because she had picked up on her mother's reticence and was emulating it, either consciously or subconsciously. Whether Hawkeye had made this connection as well, he wasn't sure. He only knew that Erin's avoidance often led to a haunted pain in his lover's eyes.

B.J. knew better than to try and force a friendship between Peg and Hawkeye, something that would have to happen in its own time, on its own merit. Short of that, he simply did his best to raise Hawkeye's spirits whenever and however he could. He devoted no less of his time to Hawkeye than he had before Erin's arrival. He not only maintained but actually increased the number of casual, physical gestures of affection between them, knowing how important such things were for a man as tactile as Hawkeye.

Most of all, he made sure to tell Hawkeye every day, and every night, how loved he was. He never tired of the way Hawk's eyes always lit up in response. Nor did he tire of hearing the same three words murmured back to him, before Hawkeye chased the words with his lips, showing his love in an entirely different way.

* * *

One night, after two and a half weeks of little improvement, and during which time the guilt gnawed a considerable hole into B.J.'s stomach, he finally raised the subject.

The rest of the household had gone to bed for the night, and after a few rounds of Double Cranko—losing was well worth the way that the game brought out both the competitive and the ridiculous in Hawkeye—the two men were ready to turn in as well. They climbed the stairs slowly, careful not to make unnecessary noise. Soon they were closed away in their room together, turning out the light and laying down to sleep.

On this particular night, they settled down on their sides so that they were facing one another. It took a moment for B.J.'s eyes to adjust in the darkness, but once they did he saw that Hawkeye also had his eyes still open, looking at B.J. just as B.J. was looking at him. B.J. smiled. He reached out a hand and traced his fingers down the side of Hawkeye's face, from forehead to cheek to chin, the touch full of love and tenderness. Hawkeye let out a sigh, as if B.J.'s fingers were the softest thing to ever come in contact with his skin.

"This hasn't exactly turned out the way that we planned, has it?" murmured B.J.

Hawkeye snorted. "A _plan_ , this was not. A _plan_ , I'll have you know, is something I can carry off without a hitch, with a serving of flair and panache on the side! This was never a plan. This was taking Ralph back to camp because we didn't know what else to do with him. Except we haven't even made it back to camp yet, we're still stalled on the road where a group of _not_ so friendly North Koreans have _guns_ leveled at us, and I keep waiting for Ralph to say something to bail us out, only he doesn't. We're all just standing there in silence, at an impasse, waiting for someone to make the first move. The complete opposite of a plan."

By the time he finished speaking, Hawkeye had lost all his humor, his voice taking on a rough, biting edge, like a dull blade that had been sharpened. Even with the lights out, B.J. could see the wallowing darkness in his eyes. Seeing Hawkeye in such pain squashed his heart to a third its normal size, and it took him a moment to find words again.

"I'll talk to Peg tomorrow," he said.

Hawk's eyes squeezed shut. After a moment, moisture touched the fingers still caressing Hawkeye's cheek. B.J.'s heart compressed even further.

" _Hawkeye_ ," he whispered, brushing the tears away as they fell.

"I'm sorry," Hawkeye said just as hoarsely.

"What? No." Hand cradling the back of Hawkeye's head, B.J. leaned closer to his friend until their foreheads touched. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I never should have asked this of you."

"You didn't—"

"I did," B.J. interrupted. "I left the decision up to you and it wasn't fair. How could you have said no? I should have said it for you. For _us_. I'll fix this, Hawk, I promise."

Lips trembling, Hawkeye opened his eyes again. "I'm sorry, Beej," he whispered. "I _wanted_ it to work, I did, so badly."

B.J. smiled, thumb brushing a line across Hawkeye's cheekbone. "I know you did."

"I really love you, you know?" Hawk said, placing his own hand on top of B.J.'s.

B.J. chuckled. "I know that too. And there is _nothing_ in this world that is more important to me than you, you got that?"

First a shaky smile, then Hawkeye swooped across the remaining distance and pressed his lips to B.J.'s in a passionate, demanding, all-consuming kiss. With a loud thump inside his chest, B.J. pressed himself back against Hawkeye just as forcefully, seeking the oxygen the other man had stolen from him. His hands dove into Hawkeye's hair, gripping and tugging as Hawkeye continued his assault on B.J's mouth. Hawkeye's tongue plunged past his lips and he groaned. Heart racing, he dropped one hand to Hawkeye's waist to pull the other man flush against him.

Hawkeye followed the momentum and swung his leg over B.J.'s side, rolling so that he was on top, pinning B.J. to the mattress. B.J. instinctively arched up against him, his hands running up and down Hawkeye's sides. They very quickly disposed of the cotton t-shirts both were wearing and continued on unhampered by clothing.

"Tell me you love me," said Hawkeye, voice trembling, as though he feared the answer to be different than the last time he'd asked. B.J. made a throaty sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, as Hawkeye's lips burned a trail down his neck to his chest.

"I love you," he said. He pulled Hawkeye's mouth back to his own. They kissed until both were breathless. Then, "I love you." Another kiss, softer. "I love you." Their movements slowed, and B.J. gazed up into the blue eyes staring back down at him. He reached up one hand, then the other, and pressed both thumbs against Hawkeye's forehead. Hawk's breath hitched as B.J. massaged his way down Hawkeye's face, using his fingers to map, trace, and caress.

"I love you, Hawkeye," he said again. "I think I always have, and I _know_ I always will. And I will choose you first every time."

"Just you and me," said Hawkeye, the words an echo from another time, another place.

B.J. smiled. He brought his thumb to Hawkeye's lower lip and drew a line across the—now plump and kiss-bitten—flesh. This time he let himself linger and did not even attempt to hide the fact that he was staring.

"Just you and me, Hawk," he agreed, before stretching upward and replacing his thumb with his teeth, pulling his lover into another kiss.

* * *

The next morning, B.J. woke before Hawkeye, as usual. After smoothing back the hair from Hawkeye's forehead and leaving a kiss in its place, he got dressed and hustled downstairs. In the kitchen he found Daniel and Peg, the former frying up eggs on the stove and the latter fetching dishes and silverware from the cabinets.

B.J. paused for a moment on the threshold, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a smile on his face at how natural the scene was. Peg already seemed at home, making her way around the kitchen with ease, not pausing for a second.

Then he remembered what he had to do. His smile fell.

Clearing his throat, B.J. stepped into the room. Daniel gave him a cursory glance over his shoulder and a warm greeting. Peg, on the other hand, stopped mid-dish placement and stood straight up, staring at him, her smile clearly forced, though not disingenuous.

"Peg, can we—"

"B.J., I wanted to—" they said at the same time.

With a huffed laugh, Peg ran a hand through her hair and slouched a little, no longer quite so tense. B.J. gave his own amused smile, and gestured towards the living room behind him.

"Maybe we should talk?" he suggested.

She nodded and, after setting the plate on the table, followed him into the other room. Neither one took any of the seats available; they stood on opposite sides of the coffee table instead.

"You had something to ask me?" said Peg.

"That's all right," B.J. replied. "You go first."

"Sure?"

"Of course."

"All right, well..." Her smile was much less forced now, and her eyes were alight with all the intelligence and good humor that B.J. had always loved in her. "I was rather hoping that you might... That is, that you and _Hawkeye_ might..." she corrected after a moment, her posture growing only slighter stiffer at Hawkeye's name. "Take Erin for the day so that I can look for work around town?"

B.J.'s eyes widened with surprise. For an instant, he wasn't sure that he'd heard correctly. In the weeks they'd been living together, Peg had never once left Erin alone with B.J. and Hawkeye. He hadn't been sure whether this was due to general discomfort or some anti-homosexual sentiment on her part, but either way, it had been an unspoken rule that Erin was not to be left alone with Daddy and Daddy's new friend.

Or so he'd thought. Had he judged too harshly, too quickly? Too ready to assume the worst?

"Absolutely!" he said without hesitation. "Peg, you don't even need to ask. We'd love to. Thank you."

A moment, loving and sincere, hung between them. B.J. wet his lips and looked down, breaking their eye contact. When he looked back up, he watched as Peg's smile turned to a grin, even as some of the light in her eyes subsided.

"No sweets for breakfast, do you understand me, B.J.?" she said, the register of her voice lowered in a teasing manner.

B.J. put a hand to his chest. "A grown man can't choose what he eats for his own breakfast?"

She rolled her eyes. "No sweets for _Erin_. You're already far too inclined to spoil her."

Laughing, B.J. reached out and loped an arm around Peg's back. He pulled her against his side for a halfway hug and stretched down to plant a kiss on the crown of her head.

"Got it," he said. "Healthy foods and hard labor only."

Peg huffed another laugh, squeezing a hug around his waist in return. "You are an absurd man, B.J. Hunnicutt."

"Incurably so, I'm afraid. Or at least that's what my doctor tells me."

At this Peg extracted herself from his grip, and when he caught a glimpse of her expression, it was tight, wounded. Belatedly he realized the awkward connotation his innocent joke might have in her mind. Alluding to his relationship with Hawkeye was another of the unspoken things to be avoided. And even though it had been unintentionally done...

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean—"

"No, I..." she said. "I know. And you don't... I mean... This is his house. _Your_ house. It's not, um... I have no right to..."

"I know," said B.J. kindly. "I'm still sorry."

Peg flashed a smile that was more wince than smile. "I know." Then she cleared her throat, and smiled more convincingly up at him. "But there was something you wanted to ask me."

It took B.J. no more than second to realize he couldn't go through with it. Not in this moment, at least, when Peg planned to spend the day job-hunting rather than packing. Besides, he had a feeling Hawkeye would understand, especially when their reward for waiting to tell Peg was the chance to spend a whole day with Erin.

He smiled. "It'll keep."


	25. Chapter 24

_A/N: Hahaha I am the worst. That is all I have to say about how long this chapter took to be published. I still love you all, truly._

* * *

Outside the air was brisk, but overall it was pleasantly warm for a winter day. After the two late risers in the household had woken and eaten their breakfasts, B.J. and Hawkeye wrapped Erin in a light jacket and headed to a nearby playground to take advantage of the weather.

Side by side, B.J. and Hawkeye strolled down the paved sidewalks of Crabapple Cove. From her perch atop B.J.'s shoulders, Erin seemed to have forgotten her normal reticence in Hawkeye's presence. She could not contain her grin as she experienced the world from on high, nor could she restrain her giggles every time B.J. bounced her on his shoulders or made a silly noise just for her.

She was especially enthralled by Hawkeye's nonstop stream of anecdotes about life growing up in Crabapple Cove. Anecdotes about playing in the park, about getting ice cream at Mo's, about fishing on the pond and taking banana bread to old Mrs. Buchanan every Sunday. B.J. could hardly blame his daughter for being so entranced by Hawkeye's tales, for he had fallen under Hawkeye's spell just as surely. In moments such as these, when Hawkeye was utterly brimming over with life, it was hard to turn your focus to anything else. Warm in the company of the two people most precious to him, B.J. felt more full of love than he'd ever been. How the feeling managed to stay inside rather than burst right out of his chest, he didn't know.

When at last they arrived at the playground, they found it mostly empty, save for two little boys, twins, perhaps five years old, who chased one another up and down and over and around the play area. The air was filled with their boyish shouts. A young woman watched them from a nearby bench.

As they grew closer, Hawkeye began to squint at the woman, his upper body bent forward as though these extra few inches would really do him any good in making out her visage. B.J. smiled affectionately.

"Is that...?" said Hawkeye.

They reached the mulch surrounding the playground. The woman turned her head, looking directly at them.

Hawkeye let out a loud, joyful laugh. "Mary Ellen, as I live and breathe!" he cried, in the same moment that the woman's face lit up with recognition.

"Hawkeye?" she called, standing.

Already Hawkeye had quickened his pace. B.J. followed behind much more slowly, feeling no need to rush and intrude. Soon Hawkeye was beside her. Laughing, he swept the petite woman up into a bear hug, one she returned enthusiastically.

"Oh Hawkeye," Mary Ellen said once he released her, smiling up at him. "It's so good to see you. You know how hatefully quiet Crabapple Cove gets when you're away. First you abandon us _just_ so you can study to be a doctor, and then... Well. How long has it been this time?" Her gaze turned soft and sympathetic. All three of the adults present understood the deeper context of her question. B.J. watched a shadow pass over his lover's eyes.

Hawkeye forced a smile through the darkness. "Too long," he said. Then, grinning, "But tell me, to _whom_ do _those_ belong?" He gestured towards the boys on the playground, a teasing eyebrow lifted. "As far as I can recall, I wasn't gone quite long enough for _that_."

Mary Ellen laughed. "My sister's boys, remember? They were only babies when... you left."

"Oh, of course," said Hawkeye. He turned quiet and introspective. Staring towards the rambunctious children, he murmured, "They've grown so much, I didn't even think..."

Finally B.J. and Erin reached them. B.J. put a comforting hand on Hawkeye's arm, squeezing gently. Hawkeye looked round and B.J. met his gaze with a smile. Immediately the smile mirrored itself on Hawkeye's lips, but softer, a smile of thanks. B.J. nodded in understanding. Hawkeye cleared his throat, turning back towards the woman.

"Mary Ellen," he said, "this is B.J. Hunnicutt and his daughter, Erin. Beej, Erin, this is Mary Ellen. She and I have been friends ever since we were kids." He grinned as he thought back to his childhood. "We used to, to race tires down the lane behind John Peters' farmhouse, do you remember?" he asked her, laughing, eyes crinkled with delight. "Doug always wanted you for his partner, even though Billy and I would whoop you every time."

She laughed, gaze off to the side as she too remembered what he spoke of. "Oh, I could never forget those days." Her fingers began to twist around the ring finger of her left hand.

Catching the movement, Hawk's hand shot out and grabbed hers, where he discovered a golden band. He let out a jolly laugh.

"You've gotten _married_!" he exclaimed. "I can't believe—Oh, Mary Ellen, that's... You and Doug?"

She nodded, eyes shining. "A year ago." Then, more soberly, "We wanted you there, Hawkeye, I hope you know that."

Not meeting her eyes, Hawkeye nodded, his fingers massaging the back of her left hand in a friendly manner. B.J. wondered if Mary Ellen could tell that this gesture was an exhibition of Hawkeye's anxiety, or if he alone was privy to that knowledge.

Before he could offer any sort of comfort—though he didn't know yet what it would be, perhaps only a change of topic—there came a whisper just above his ear.

"Daddy!"

B.J. tilted his ear up towards Erin, who was pointedly not looking at Hawkeye or Mary Ellen, her shyness causing her to pretend only her father could hear her. Though it had been unknowingly done, B.J. felt a rush of gratitude towards his daughter for diverting the group's attention.

"Yes, Erin?" he said back to her in an equally enthusiastic whisper.

"I want down!"

"You want down?" He felt her whole body move as she nodded. "Are you sure?" Again she gave a full-bodied nod. "You don't waaaaant _up_ instead?" he asked. The girl let out a squeal as he jumped, lifting her even higher into the air.

Giggling, she shook her head. " _No_ , Daddy, _down_!" she exclaimed, reaching towards the ground as though he were genuinely confused as to her desire.

"Oh, oh, _down_ ," he said. With a loud whoop, he grasped her hips and lifted her off his shoulders, lowering her gently to the ground. "There you go, sweetheart."

As soon as her feet were on solid earth, Erin took off running. After a quick adieu and a shared smile with Hawkeye, B.J. followed his daughter onto the playground, leaving the two old friends to their reminiscing.

Feeling very much the Bigfoot that Hawkeye sometimes called him, B.J. climbed all over the child-sized structure, exercising his fatherly duty of 'playmate.' He pushed Erin on the swings, and kept her steady as she walked down a balance beam, and held her to his chest as they went down the slide together. Mary Ellen's two nephews remained lively, but did nothing to interfere in the little girl's fun, apparently indifferent to their new company.

After another short bout on the swings—one of the many things B.J. had learned about his daughter in the past few months was that, despite being naturally shy, when there were entertaining things about she could not focus on one thing for long before her curious and excitable nature drove her to explore another—Erin hopped off and raced towards the slide. B.J followed with a grin. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, checking in with Hawkeye.

He paused. Hawkeye was beaming, the sort of smile that crinkled his eyes and took up his entire face. Gesturing as he was towards Mary Ellen's belly, it was no mystery what was responsible for this behavior. As he often did, B.J. became overwhelmed in that moment by the truth that such a beautiful, loving, wondrous man could love _him_. He smiled.

The scuff of small shoes broke his reverie. But even as his body began to turn, his eyes remained stuck on Hawkeye, as though a string of toffee connected them and refused to break.

"Daddy!"

At the waver in Erin's voice, his head snapped around.

First he registered the tears in her eyes. Then he saw an arm extended towards him, and the distinct red of blood.

His vision went white. _Ba-BUM_. He blinked, trying to see clearly again. _Ba-BUM_. A little Korean girl, her dress dark with blood, too much blood to mistake her for being alive, swam in front of his eyes.

 _Ba-BUM_ —he stumbled backwards, chest constricting, heart faltering— _ba-BUM_ —he had to save her, he had to— _ba-BUM_ —she wasn't breathing _,_ was he breathing?— _ba-BUM—_ but he couldn't save her, hadn't saved her, she was already dead, Erin— _ba-BUM_ —was already dead— _ba-BUM_ —he couldn't see, couldn't— _ba-BUM—_ hear— _ba-BUM—_ there were more wounded, he had to— _ba-BUM_ —more surgeries to _—ba-BUM_ —pull himself together _—ba-BUM—_ he couldn't—

He felt something on his arm. Gripping, tight. _Ba-BUM_.

"Beej, breathe." _Ba-BUM_. "Can you hear me? It's Hawkeye. You have to breathe." _Ba-BUM._

Hawkeye.

He forced his eyes up, blinking away the white, blinking until his eyes found the other man's. _Ba-BUM_. The operating room swirled behind Hawkeye, litters and uniforms and white gowns and IVs and noise, all blending together. He fought to keep his focus on his friend's eyes, but the melee of sound and movement behind him made this difficult. _Ba-BUM_.

One of Hawkeye's hands, the one not wrapped around his forearm, gestured up from stomach to sternum. "Breathe, B.J.," he repeated.

B.J. opened his mouth. Like a lock had unfastened somewhere inside of him, oxygen he'd been missing suddenly came rushing in, filling his lungs in a loud gasp. _Ba-BUM_. He repeated the action, and then again, following the rhythm of Hawkeye's swooping arm.

"Hawk, I can't—" _Ba-BUM._ He choked as his gaze was dragged back to the parade of broken bodies entering the OR. He tried to close his eyes, but they refused to shut. _Ba-BUM._

"Beej, there's a bench right next to you. I want you to try sitting down, all right? We both will, you and me. I'm right here with you."

 _Ba-BUM._ B.J. couldn't see the bench, but he could still feel the hand on his arm and he let it guide him. He didn't even realize his knees had bent until he felt his backside smack down on a flat surface. _Ba-BUM_.

"Beej? Beej, look at me."

B.J. wanted to, he _wanted_ to, but he couldn't look away from the horror around them, he couldn't move, couldn't break away.

"Come on, _look_ at me."

Two hands grasped both sides of his face and forcibly turned him. B.J. found himself staring directly into two blue eyes. He gave a sharp inhale. The clatter of surgery increased next to him. _Ba-BUM_. He flinched, head already shifting to seek out the source of the noise, contrary to his own desires.

Then Hawkeye leaned forward and pressed his forehead against B.J.'s.

 _Ba-bum..._ The operating room quieted, the movement in his periphery stilling. _Ba-bum..._ B.J. stared wide-eyed at his lover from only inches away.

"I've got you," said Hawkeye, looking as intently into B.J.'s eyes as B.J. was looking into his. The longer B.J. stared into that familiar gaze, the deeper he felt the oxygen settle in his chest, the quieter his heart raged. _Ba-bum..._ The world around Hawkeye had disappeared. B.J. wasn't actually sure what country they were in anymore, his mind too hazy to recall. All that currently existed in B.J.'s universe was the color blue.

"You're okay. I've got you."

 _Ba-bum..._

Air was coming in easier now. Color began to reappear around the blurred edges of Hawkeye's face, painting a more clear picture of their surroundings. He saw blue skies and greenery—not of the olive drab variety—as well as some grays and tans off to his left.

Of course. The playground in Crabapple Cove, Maine. He blinked a few times while the image solidified.

Seeing the worst had passed, Hawkeye released a breath, his lips curling up with tender relief.

"Hey you," he said. His body relaxed, their heads now resting gently against one another rather than pressed together for support. His hands fell from B.J.'s cheeks. "You're okay. You're okay."

B.J. knew that Hawkeye was still speaking to him, but wasn't sure whether this reassurance was meant more for B.J. or for Hawkeye himself.

The older man had allowed his gaze to drop for a moment. Now he brought it back up. "You with me?" he asked.

Swallowing, B.J. nodded. "I'm with you," he croaked, such that his first word was mostly lost. But Hawkeye clearly understood him just fine.

Now that the panic had passed, shame began to set in. To have such an episode in public, far worse than any he'd had thus far even in private, was mortifying. He was less concerned with his own reputation than he was with Hawkeye's. This was Hawkeye's home they were living in, after all, these were his friends and neighbors, and if B.J. couldn't control himself in public he would become an embarrassment to Hawkeye, the reason that everyone looked at them askance as they walked down the street or conveniently 'forgot' to invite Hawkeye to friendly gatherings.

He was running enough of a risk merely by _being_ with Hawkeye and chancing that their status as war buddies turned life partners would alienate Hawkeye from anyone who cottoned on to the truth of their relationship. If on top of that he wound up being an embarrassment to Hawkeye as well, B.J. wasn't sure he could stand it. He was a grown man, for God's sake, he shouldn't need anyone to babysit him—

Babysit.

Erin.

A new dose of fear and shame flooded his system, his own ineptitude as a father squeezing his heart almost as tightly as the panic attack had. He sat bolt upright. Already turning to look for his daughter, he said, "Hawkeye, where's—"

"Erin's fine," said Hawkeye, even as B.J.'s eyes fixed on the little girl.

Mary Ellen stood some fifty feet away, holding Erin on her hip so that her back was to her father, all her attention seemingly focused on the woman who held her. Mary Ellen was smiling, saying something B.J. couldn't make out, all while bouncing Erin gently. After a moment she laughed then spoke again, responding to something the girl had said.

"She was barely hurt, just a scrape on her elbow really," Hawkeye continued. "Nothing a little water and a Band-Aid won't fix. And you know, Dad just bought some of those new ones with the funny designs on them, like Mickey Mouse, she'll love it."

B.J. turned back to face him. Hawkeye's gaze, when it met his, was loving and kind. B.J.'s eyes welled with tears. He didn't deserve such kindness, he wasn't worthy, he wasn't worthy, he wasn't...

"She's okay, Beej." Hawkeye brushed a thumb against B.J.'s stubbly cheek. " _Everything's_ okay."

"But it never should have happened in the first place," he said. "I should have been watching her, and instead I let myself get distracted and then..." His jaw clamped shut for a moment before he continued. "I couldn't even take care of her when she did get hurt." He shook his head, struggling not to cry. "I've ruined it, Hawk. I screwed up and now... Peg is never gonna trust us with Erin again. Not after this. I made sure of that."

The other man gave a sad sigh. "Beej..."

"And _you_ , what I did to _you_ ," continued B.J., not to be deterred. "Hawk, I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have had to—"

"No," Hawkeye said firmly. "Stop _right_ there, I mean it. You don't need to apologize for anything, anything at all, understand? It's not your fault. None of it is. You're okay and Erin's okay and that's _all_ that matters. It's certainly all _I_ care about." His voice grew quieter. Though their conversation had already been private, this made his following words seem all the more personal and intimate. "You're not alone, B.J., you never will be, not for any of this. I'm here for you, always, through everything. Isn't that what we promised each other?"

He searched B.J.'s face, seeking confirmation. "I mean... I know we never technically said 'For better or worse' or 'Til death do us part' or any of that, but... I kind of hoped it was true anyways. I know it's what _I_ want. So, no," he finished. "I don't want your 'sorry's. I just want your always."

Close to crying again, B.J. was forced to look away in order to bring his tear ducts under control. When he turned back, he gave Hawkeye a nod.

"Yeah," he said, hoarse. "Even longer than that, if you'll let me."

Hawkeye smiled, though his own eyes were still watery as well. "All right, then. See, aren't we glad we cleared that up? No more of that 'sorry' business. Now—" In the span of a second, his voice changed into that of a stuffy British aristocrat. B.J., quite to his credit, kept a straight face, even straightening his posture to match Hawkeye's. "—I _do_ say, if you're feeling _quite_ better, young man, we really ought to re-adjourn with the Lady Erin, what ho."

He stood, offering a flamboyant hand down to B.J. After a moment's pause, B.J. took it, and with Hawkeye's help he lifted himself onto his feet.

* * *

 _A/N: This plot line will continue in the next chapter. And guess what! Only two more chapters! (Plus one epilogue.)_


	26. Chapter 25

_A/N: Penultimate chapter, folks._

* * *

Hawkeye's prediction turned out to be correct. Erin loved her Mickey Mouse band-aid. By the time her mother returned home later that day, the girl seemed to have forgotten all about the incident, distracted by fun and games with the elder Dr. Pierce, Hawkeye, and her father.

But B.J. did not forget. When he heard the door open late in the afternoon, his fingers clenched involuntarily around the checker piece in his hand. Hawkeye immediately wrapped a comforting hand around B.J.'s. There was a momentary clatter of doors and shoes near the front of the house, then all too suddenly, Peg appeared in the threshold of the living room.

"Mommy!" called Erin. She launched herself to her feet and raced, as quickly as her short legs were able, over to her mother. Wearing a big smile, Peg knelt down and gave her daughter a hug.

"How are you, my darling? Did you have a good day with Daddy and Hawkeye?" she asked, pulling back and brushing blonde bangs out of Erin's face.

Erin nodded. "We're playing checkers."

"Oh? What else did you do?"

B.J. rose slowly to his feet. A sense of approaching doom fell over him like a cloud of ash. Hawkeye came to stand next to him.

"I got to play on the playground, and Dan-Dan"—the girl's name for Daniel Pierce—"gave me a pretty band-aid!"

Here came the first flash of concern in Peg's eyes. Not alarm, not yet, nor anger. But B.J. knew it would be coming soon, as soon as she heard the story of how it had happened. He swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat and stepped closer to the two ladies. Meanwhile, Peg was examining the scraped elbow her daughter had presented to her. She opened her mouth, no doubt to ask how Erin had gotten the boo-boo.

Before she could, B.J. leaned down and placed a gentle hand on the girl's back. "Erin, sweetie," he said. She looked up at him with an unconcerned smile, blissfully unaware. "Daddy needs to talk to Mommy for just a minute. Could you take my place at checkers? I only trust _you_ to do it."

A proud grin was his response, and with an enthusiastic nod Erin ran over to the checkers board to take B.J.'s turn for him.

B.J. stood straight again, and when he forced himself to turn and look Peg in the eyes, he saw her confusion clearly. How badly he did not want to say what he was about to say. But he had to. It was the right thing to do. Peg had the right to know how her daughter had gotten injured. She had the right to know that B.J. was an unreliable parental guardian.

His teeth ground together.

"B.J..." Peg said. "What is it?"

And so he told her. He explained his moment of distraction, Erin's fall and injury, and then his flashback to the OR. He filled in the blanks with what Hawkeye had told him: how Hawkeye, hearing Erin's cry and witnessing B.J.'s subsequent response, hurried over and immediately removed Erin from the situation. How he calmed her from the fright of the injury and of seeing her father in such a state, while performing a quick physical assessment to be sure the injury was mild. How he then passed her off to Mary Ellen so that he could turn his attentions to calming B.J.

Peg watched him as he told the story, a crease in her brow and a slight tightness in her jaw. When he got to the part about Hawkeye's intervention, her gaze flicked to the other man before returning to B.J., her expression unchanged.

B.J. felt sick to his stomach in a way he couldn't describe in words. Next to him, Hawkeye stood stiff as a board, his own anxiety obvious to someone who knew him as well as B.J. did. They both waited in fear of Peg's reaction: B.J. for her loss of trust due to his failure as a parent, and Hawkeye for her anger at his handling of Erin—namely, passing her off to a stranger, when taking care of the girl ought to have been his top priority.

Finally B.J. finished his explanation. Silence descended over them, so suddenly that B.J. felt he was choking on it. He could feel it in his gut. The moment of tension before the executioner's axe came down. Before the firing squad unloaded their rifles. All he could do was watch his ex-wife and wait for her judgment.

For a moment she was silent and still.

Then she took a deep breath in. B.J. stopped breathing. Her eyes flicked over to Hawkeye, her look so sharp that B.J. winced in sympathy of the panic he knew his partner was experiencing in that moment.

She said, "Thank you, Hawkeye." Raising a hand, she extended it towards him.

Wide-eyed, B.J. turned to find an expression of equal, if not greater, shock on Hawkeye's face. After a second he met her hand with his own. They shook. Even after she'd removed hers, Hawkeye's hand remained frozen in the same outright position for several seconds before he remembered himself and lowered it again.

"Thank you," she said, "for always looking out for my family."

"I couldn't have done anything else," Hawkeye answered, _anything other than protect them_ being implied. But the words were coming out rather dazed, as though he were still dumbstruck and speaking only on instinct.

Peg gave a quiet chuckle. "Yes, I rather thought so. And that is why they are lucky to have you. Why _we_ are lucky to have you."

Now B.J.'s mouth fell open a little. He couldn't quite believe it was as simple as all that. Grateful to Hawkeye she may be, but that didn't mean that _he_ was off the hook.

"But..." he said. "Peggy, that's... I mean... You're right, about Hawkeye, what he did. For me. And Erin. Still, I... Clearly _I'm_ not fit to—"

"B.J. Hunnicutt, if you are about to suggest that you are in any way unfit to be a father to your child," Peg said, "I recommend you leave off right where you are."

B.J. did so, only because he was too bewildered by this turn of events to do anything more than stare at her.

"I may be no doctor," she said, "but I have done my fair share of educating myself about the effects of war on homecoming soldiers. I knew from the moment you first left us two years ago that this would never be easy. That doesn't mean I... If you think I would... blame _you_ for what the war has done to you, use this as a reason to cut you out of your daughter's life, well I... I'm not that woman, B.J. Please tell me that you understand that."

The first time B.J. opened his mouth to answer, he coughed and had to swallow some saliva. Finally he said, "I understand. I'm sorry." _Thank you_.

She nodded, not quite looking at him. "Good. Then so long as... you two have one another to... lean on... everything should be all right. My daughter is safe, and cared for, and loved. And as long as those three things remain true, I don't see that we should have any problems. Agreed?"

"Mhm. Yes," the two men murmured in tandem, both quiet, seeming afraid of breaking whatever spell had allowed this happy outcome.

Peg nodded. "Then, if you'll both excuse me, I would like to spend some time with the daughter I was apart from all day."

Before either man could get a word in, she was gone. Still, despite her abrupt departure, both men recognized the kindness she was showing them. The understanding. The way that her no-nonsense attitude was meant, not meanly, but as an antidote to their shame and their fear. They met each other with shy smiles.

"Did what I think just happened really happen?" asked Hawkeye.

"I really think it did."

They were quiet for another moment, letting the three cheerful voices from the living room play in the background. Then Hawkeye said, "You picked a hell of a woman, Beej." He was even smiling as he said it, in true admiration of Peg Hunnicutt.

And though B.J.'s heart soared at the genuine lack of bitterness in Hawkeye's voice, still he grabbed Hawkeye's hand and pulled the other man against him, looping his arms casually around the slender man's waist, encircling him in B.J.'s hold. He leaned forward to give Hawkeye a slow, deep, loving kiss. When he pulled back, Hawkeye was smiling through misty eyes. Looking at B.J. like he was the world's most perfect creation. B.J.'s heart received an electric jolt as it still did whenever Hawkeye looked at him this way.

"I did," he said. "And I also picked a hell of a man."

He leaned back in, to be met with another kiss.

* * *

That night, Hawkeye found himself alone downstairs with Peg as B.J. tucked Erin in to bed. Before mixing a martini for himself, he first poured a glass of Peg's preferred white wine and offered it to her. It was accepted with a smile. Once he had his own drink in hand, he followed her into the living room. They stood together in mildly uncomfortable silence, each sipping at their respective beverages.

Just as Hawkeye was gearing himself up to invite her to a game of Double Cranko, she broke the silence.

"I meant what I said earlier, Hawkeye." She turned to look at him. He tried not to let his accelerated pulse show in his countenance. "I'm grateful to you for what you did. For... taking care of them, in ways I feel certain no one else could have." She turned her gaze upwards now, as though looking through the ceiling and into the room where B.J. was reading Erin a bedtime story. "I don't think I truly understood until today, but... he needs you. I'm certain of that now." She swallowed. "Just as I am certain that he loves you. As much... no... _more_ than he ever loved me."

Hawkeye felt a pang in his chest. He looked down. "I'm sorry."

"You truly are, aren't you?" Surprised by the warmth in her voice, he looked back up. Her eyes gleamed. As if scolding him, she lowered her voice and leaned closer, a disapproving wrinkle between her eyebrows. "You know, it would be far easier to hate you if you were a smug, selfish bastard."

Hawkeye let out a loud laugh. "It's a shame you didn't meet me two years ago, you would've _loved_ me," he said, grinning. "Just ask Margaret Houlihan."

"The war changed you?"

Instantly sober again, it took him a moment to answer this query. "Probably more than I realize," he said. "But the war was only part of it. The other part was..."

"B.J.?" she guessed.

Hawkeye nodded slowly. "He gave me a reason to change. Made me want to be something... something better than what I was." He forced himself to be brave and meet her eyes. If there was one thing he never wanted her to doubt, it was that she'd given B.J. over to someone who loved him just as fiercely as he deserved. "He still inspires me to do that every day."

When her hand touched his arm, he jumped. But soon he relaxed, smiling at her as happy tingles spread from his arm, through his chest, his heart, his limbs.

"You inspire him as well, Hawkeye," she said. "I won't pretend that I find that easy to say, but... it's too obvious to ignore. B.J. is... a different man with you, than he was with me. It's like... he's a truer self with you. And that can only be better, I think." Her head tilted at him and she smiled. "Don't you?"

* * *

 _Nine days later, December 23_ _rd_ _..._

"Mmm... _DECK_ the halls with boughs of holly! Fa la la la la, la la la la!" Hawkeye's exuberant baritone carried down the stairs and into the kitchen where B.J. sat eating his lunch. A smile split his lips before he could help himself. He shook his head down at his crossword, filling in an answer even as he brought a fork of potato salad to his mouth.

Though it was lunchtime for B.J., it was breakfast for Hawkeye, who had worked a night shift at the hospital the day before. As such, B.J. would have expected a much quieter descent down the stairs and a look of frumpled exhaustion until the caffeine and daylight kicked in. But in the last few days, during the countdown to Christmas, Hawk always seemed to wake with energy and a festive mood. Not even a late shift was able to tamp down on that spirit.

He grinned. Hawkeye was a bit like a child in that way. Though, B.J. supposed he didn't have much right to say that, when Hawkeye's most frequent companion in his holiday-inspired antics was not Erin, but B.J. himself. And frankly, he could hardly wait for the day itself, for the costumed spectacle he and Hawkeye had planned as a treat for their loved ones.

Lost in thought, B.J. only woke again to Hawkeye's presence when the man settled down in the chair next to him, placing a coffee cup and plate of bacon, eggs, and toast on the table. Humming his way through the song's last refrain, Hawkeye scooped sugar into his coffee. B.J. turned his attention back to the crossword he'd been occupied with.

Suddenly there came a loud splutter and a noise of such pain that B.J.'s head whipped up in concern. The coffee cup clattered back onto the table, some of the coffee spilling over its sides. He watched as Hawkeye's face contorted into a variety of disgusted expressions, tongue flailing around as though to banish some ill-gotten taste.

"Hawk, you all right?" he asked.

" _No_ , I'm not all right!" the other man cried. He made another _Blegh_ sound and glared at the offending coffee cup. "There was salt in my sugar jar!"

For a moment B.J. was speechless. Then he laughed. "What?"

Hawkeye glared at him. "Oh, don't play dumb with me, pal!" he said, wagging a finger. "This has B.J. Hunnicutt written _all_ over it."

B.J.'s mouth dropped open. In genuine protest, he said, "I swear I didn't! Honestly, I don't know what—" He stopped. For the answer was so obvious, staring him right in the face.

And it was marvelous. Beaming, he threw his head back as he laughed. "Oh, that is _great_!"

Hawk's eyes narrowed. "Come again?"

"Peg is pranking you!" B.J. exclaimed. He couldn't quite help the smile still reaching across both cheeks. "She must really feel comfortable with you now."

His partner looked less than impressed. "Are you really gonna try to pin this on that sweet, charming woman?"

The mirth was fully bubbling up within him now, and B.J. knew he was doing nothing to contain his glee as he said, "Oh, did I never mention that I learned everything I know about pranking from Peg?"

There was a moment of pause. Then Hawkeye whacked him across the arm, his mouth gaping open in outrage. B.J. laughed.

"You weasel!" said Hawk. "So you stole her pranks the same way you stole my jokes?"

" _One_ joke, _one_!" B.J. crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "And you really need to get over that."

"So how do you know she wasn't going after _you_ , huh? What makes you so sure I was the target?"

"I don't take sugar in my coffee. You, on the other hand, barely take coffee with your sugar."

At this Hawkeye smiled, a smug, flirtatious look if B.J. had ever seen one. "What can I say? I have a taste for sweet things."

Despite himself, B.J. felt his heart begin to race as Hawkeye leaned around the edge of the table and delicately placed his lips against B.J.'s. They shared a chaste kiss for a few moments. Then Hawkeye sat back. That smile was still on his lips, even more smug than before.

Even distracted as he was by the butterflies in his stomach, B.J. watched with perfect clarity as Hawkeye reached out to grab his coffee cup, the gesture entirely without thought. He said nothing, mouth sealed shut so as not to give anything away.

Hawkeye brought the cup to his lips, and drank.

" _GUH_." Hawkeye gagged. B.J. erupted in laughter again as Hawkeye picked up the cup and finally took it to the sink to be poured out.

When Hawkeye had settled back at the table, he said, "She realizes this means war, doesn't she?"

Snorting, B.J. turned back to his crossword. "I wouldn't if I were you."

"What? Why not?"

"Because you'll be outwitted _and_ outnumbered," he said, his implication obvious.

Hawkeye's mouth fell open in shock at this betrayal. "You'd take her side over mine?"

"It's less a matter of taking _her_ side, and more a matter of taking the side that's against _you_."

"Well, you know what?" said Hawkeye vigorously. "My dad's a pretty good prankster himself, so, ha!"

B.J. shrugged. "Just one more contender for you to watch out for." He scribbled an answer for '5 across.'

" _What_?" exclaimed Hawk. "You think he'll join forces with Peg? That's crazy!"

"Of _course_ he'll join forces with Peg."

"I'm his son!"

"But he's practically _sweet_ on Peg," B.J. said.

There was a pause as Hawkeye considered this. Then,

"I don't like you very much," he said, pouting. He flopped backward in his chair.

"You can have Erin," B.J. offered. He fought valiantly against the twitch in his lips as Hawkeye glared at him in response.

"Oh, yes, an intellectual _giant_ , _thank_ you."

"Look, I'm already trembling in my slippers."

As Hawkeye made to whack him again—or shove him out of his chair, more likely—B.J. snatched hold of his arm. Smiling, he tugged Hawkeye into another kiss. Hawkeye immediately kissed him back, shifting closer and gaining a smile to match B.J.'s own.

After a minute, B.J. released him. Hawkeye did not go far, however, remaining close and staring at B.J. with all the love and affection in the world. Slightly embarrassed, B.J. cleared his throat and gave his friend a nudge.

"You should eat, Hawk," he said. "Your breakfast is getting cold."


	27. Chapter 26

_A/N: And here we are everybody. The final chapter. Much longer than a usual chapter, though, so I hope that's a treat for you! Wow. I'm really just not sure what to say. It has been a long journey, folks, perhaps longer than most of us thought it would be. Still, I wouldn't change a minute of it. I've loved writing this story, and I'm so glad that M*A*S*H and all these characters stole my heart more than a year ago._

 _Big, endless thanks to everyone who has stuck with me from beginning to end. I'd love to hear from everyone who has gotten all the way to the finish line! It'd be great to know what you all think of the story and its end. Hopefully you'll enjoy this last hurrah._

 _All my love._

* * *

Hawkeye had thought it might be strange to see them all out of the context of Korea. Prepared to make some mental adjustments to reconcile the two images, the 4077th on American soil. He discovered that he was quite wrong. There was nothing remotely strange about it. It felt like coming home. These people were family, and family wasn't defined by geography.

The Pierre Hotel ballroom was already packed when Hawkeye, B.J., Peg, and Erin arrived. They stopped just inside the doorway.

Hawkeye was more than a little stunned at the turnout. He and B.J. had begun planning this nearly six months ago, just after the New Year. The first—or second, depending on how you looked at it—MASH 4077 reunion. They'd started so early because they knew from experience how difficult it would be to coordinate schedules and the like. Sure enough, it had taken months of planning and countless letters hither and yon across the United States. But now, looking at the fruits of those labors, he knew that it was all worth it. It was one thing to plan and to hope. It was quite another to see.

Shooting a glance at the girl he privately considered a daughter, Hawkeye found himself very grateful that he and B.J. had managed to convince Peg to come with them.

It hadn't been an easy battle. Made harder by the fact that Hawkeye and B.J. hadn't even realized there was a battle to be _fought_ until the day they were set to leave. All along, through months and months of planning, he and B.J. had simply assumed that Peg's attendance was a given. Only to hear, when they asked whether she was done packing, _"I think it's best if I stay home."_

When pressed for her reason, Peg admitted that she didn't feel she had any place at a reunion of the 4077. Not anymore. Not now that she had no family in the unit. It was one thing for Erin to go, she said. Erin was B.J.'s daughter and so belonged there. But Peg was only Erin's mother, not B.J.'s wife. She didn't want to intrude, nor did she want Hawkeye and B.J. to take her along out of pity.

It took a long conversation and many heartfelt declarations, but by the end, Peg had tears in her eyes and a new understanding of how sincerely she was considered an integral part of the family. Not just in relation to Erin, but to both B.J. and Hawkeye as well. They would not hear of her missing the reunion.

A fact Hawkeye was _especially_ glad for now, as the multitudes of people might have been too much for Erin to handle without the soothing hand of her mother. B.J. seemed to notice this as well, and he spent a moment speaking quietly with Erin before they all proceeded further into the ballroom.

As they passed through, Hawkeye and B.J. found themselves the center of a good deal of attention. Everyone seemed to have greetings or well wishes for their captains. Hawk and B.J. met them all with smiles and laughter, shaking hands almost faster than they could process the bodies attached to them.

The first true friend they stumbled upon was none other than Charles. Wineglass in hand, he looked thoroughly displeased in the company of one Sergeant Rizzo, who seemed not to notice the other man's grimaces or sideways glances as he droned on about some such thing. Charles, in looking for an escape, spotted Hawkeye and B.J. before they'd even managed to say hello.

It was a testament to his pain that Charles's immediate expression was one of relief rather than lofty scorn.

"Gentlemen!" he exclaimed, cutting Rizzo off mid-sentence. "Where have you _been_?"

The mechanic turned towards their new company as casual as you like, not seeming bothered by Charles's interruption. Charles intercepted Hawkeye and B.J. before they could come any closer, grabbing them each by an arm and towing them away. Over his shoulder he called, " _Lovely_ catching up with you, Rizzo. We must... a-ha... do it again sometime." This last muttered under his breath, as they were now well away from the sergeant who appeared just as content to seek out other company.

Finally Charles released them both with a heart-heavy sigh and took a gulp of his wine. Hawk and B.J. watched with wide eyes.

"I don't know that I've ever been so glad to see the two of you," said Charles.

"I _know_ you haven't," B.J. said, while Hawkeye restrained a smirk.

Charles shot them a look. "That... grease-stained _baboon_ has been _hounding_ me for the past half hour! I thought there would be no end."

"You're mixing up your animals, Charles," said Hawkeye. He plucked the wineglass from the man's hand. "Maybe you should slow down."

Scowling, Charles plucked the glass right back. "I am nowhere _near_ inebriated yet, Pierce. And I am _not_ submitting myself to this atrocity of an evening without alcohol." He chuckled darkly, turning his gaze towards the room at large. His eyes caught on Peg and Erin, who had followed their party without question and stood just behind the two other men. Charles immediately straightened his posture and adopted a much pleasanter expression.

With a glance at B.J., he said, "Where are your manners, Hunnicutt?" Then he put out a hand towards Peg. "My name is Dr. Charles Emerson Winchester the Third. And might I have the pleasure of addressing...?"

"Peg," she confirmed, shaking his hand. "It's nice to finally meet you, Charles."

"Ah." Charles smiled towards the girl on her hip. "Then this little angel must be _Erin_." When Erin gave no response, he leaned slightly towards her. "Hello there," he said. "My name is Dr. Winchester. I've heard quite a lot about you from your father. He talked of little else, really," was shot off to the side. B.J. rolled his eyes.

"Dr. Winchester is friends with Daddy and Hawkeye from the time when Daddy was away," Peg told her daughter. "Do you understand, sweetheart?"

Erin nodded.

"Would you like to say anything to him?"

She looked Charles in the eyes. "Hello, Dr. Winchester," she said, emphasizing the second syllable of his name. Then her gaze turned up towards the top of his head. "I like your hair. It's like Dan-Dan's."

At this Hawkeye and B.J. exploded, hooting and hollering and holding on to one another to keep their balance. Even Peg put a hand over her mouth to hide a smile. Hawkeye could feel stitches coming on in his sides.

Charles turned to them, his eyes narrowed. "Dan-Dan?" he inquired, with a look that said he knew he was going to regret asking.

"Daniel... Pierce..." B.J. gasped through the tears. "She likes your hair because it reminds her of him."

The younger man's expression turned sour. No one needed to speak the words _male pattern_ _baldness_ for it to be obvious. Through clear force of will, he put a smile back on his face and directed it at Erin. "Well. _Thank_ you, Erin. That is... very kind of you."

Still fighting a grin, Peg said, "Perhaps Erin and I should grab a few refreshments, leave you men to talk."

"Are you sure?" asked B.J.

"We'll be just fine," she said. She indicated a table with food and drinks on the adjacent wall of the room. "We'll be right over there if you need us." Lifting Erin higher onto her hip, she made a quick goodbye to Charles and then walked away.

"Charming girl. A chip off the old block," Charles said wryly, taking a sip from his glass.

"Why thank you, Charles!" said B.J.

"We're proud of her," Hawkeye added with a smirk.

Charles sent a considering look between the men. "Yes... I had noticed that all correspondence from the two of you originated from the same address. Am I to take that to mean you are now... living together? And little Miss Erin seems familiar not only with Pierce but Pierce's father. I assume, then, that she and the missus have relocated to the Pine Tree State as well?"

Hawk and B.J. shared a look. This was something they hadn't discussed, what details of their relationship to make public or not. Somehow it had never come up between them, perhaps because they'd assumed everyone would take their togetherness in stride as usual.

"I... wouldn't exactly call Peg the 'missus' anymore," B.J. said. "But yes, those are essentially the facts."

At this, Charles nodded and took another drink. "I understand."

Hawkeye peered closer at his once-rival, now-friend. "You do?"

Charles met his gaze square on. "I do."

"Well if it ain't the Three Stooges, all back together again," came a well-worn voice, as warm and familiar as a glass of good scotch. The three men turned to face their former commanding officer, Hawkeye and B.J. with grins and Charles with a wince.

"Colonel," he said, "I don't believe that I can fairly be said to share that title with these two hooli—"

" _Quiet_ , Curly!" said Colonel Potter, silencing him with a sharp look and a raised finger. Charles's eyelids twitched, but he stopped talking. The colonel turned a smile on his other two surgeons, hands clasped behind his back. "Boys, I can't tell you how glad it makes an old man to see you. And how much gladder to see you here than over there."

"Same goes for us, Colonel," said Hawkeye, fighting back a wave of sentimentality.

"Doubly so," said B.J.

Colonel Potter nodded, seeming rather teary-eyed himself. He clapped a hand on B.J.'s shoulder. Then, clearing his throat, he waved forward a woman who looked to be about his age. Hawkeye recognized her from the pictures on Colonel Potter's desk: this was his wife, Mildred.

"There's someone I'd like you fellas to meet," he said.

Introductions were made and small talk was had. Hawkeye couldn't remember ever being quite so happy, not even during the last year. There was something about being here, surrounded by his friends and family of the MASH 4077, that made him feel whole. Though he had never before noticed feeling un-whole. Mildred Potter proved herself to be a real firecracker, delighting Hawkeye and B.J. immensely. And the way Colonel Potter still looked at his wife of thirty-one years filled Hawkeye with emotions he couldn't name. He could only hope that he and B.J. still looked at one another that way after spending a lifetime together.

For a time Charles excused himself from the group. Tracking his movements, Hawkeye watched as he made his way over to Peg and Erin, who had found a table near the edge of the room. Hawkeye smiled and returned his attention to his own company.

Shortly after Charles rejoined their party, Colonel Potter said, "Now where is this daughter that I've heard so much about, Hunnicutt? Mildred is dying to see her." His wife raised an eyebrow at him. He laughed and put up a hand. "Okay, okay, I might be dying to see her too."

B.J. pointed over to his family. "Right over there, Colonel. I know they'd love to meet you."

"I think we may just do that, then." He nodded at the other doctors. "Well, you three. I'm sure we'll see each other again plenty before the weekend is over, or I'm not a horse-lovin' man."

"Indubitably, Colonel," Charles said, with a good deal more affection than he'd shown yet.

"We're counting on it," said Hawkeye.

"In the meantime..." The colonel got a twinkle in his eye, staring at something past Hawkeye's shoulder. "I think there's someone else wanting a bit of your time, Pierce. I've already had my turn. Now it's yours."

Though he was dying to turn around, Hawkeye still took the time to grab the other man's hand and shake it. Colonel Potter smiled understandingly. Then he and Mildred excused themselves. Finally Hawkeye, B.J., and Charles turned around to greet whomever waited for them.

Hawkeye beamed. "Radar O'Reilly, if you aren't a sight for sore hearts!"

At the boy's answering grin, he had to fight the urge to yank the younger man into a hug. Instead he turned his eyes to the young woman _beside_ his friend. Feeling a thrill, he said, "And don't tell me! You must be..." He closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead in a grand show. "Miss Patty Haven from Lancaster, Missouri!"

Her eyes lit up, delighted. "How did you know that?"

Hawkeye smirked, smoothing down a nonexistent mustache. "My name is Caliban, the 4077th's camp psychic! I can guess your name, state, and weight just by looking at you. I even read minds!" Again he closed his eyes and threw up his hands. "For instance, I can tell that right now you're thinking... what a handsome and charming man you've just met." He dropped his hands to his chest, posing like a shy schoolgirl. " _Well_. I'm _flattered_ , but please, I'm a spoken-for man."

Radar turned to Patty with a smile. "Don't mind Cap'n Pierce, he's just a kidder," he reassured her. "You know, he may not act like it, but he's one of the best doctors you'll ever meet. Honest! And this is Captain Hunnicutt and Major Winchester, both real first-rate docs."

"Caliban the camp psychic?" B.J. said to Hawkeye, laughter in his eyes. "Isn't that more Klinger's territory?"

"Well _some_ body's got to keep things colorful in his absence." Looking around the room, he said, "Where is our cross-dressing company clerk anyways? Anybody know if he's coming?"

Charles rolled his eyes. "Don't be absurd, he's all the way in Korea. What do you expect him to do, take the train?" He huffed a laugh that was rather more like a giggle.

"How do you know he's still in Korea?" Hawkeye asked.

"Did you not _read_ his latest missive, Pierce? Had their circumstances changed so significantly during the past three weeks, I am certain he would have considered this newsworthy enough to warrant another round of letters. Given some of the _other_ drudgery he has considered worth sending in his reports."

"Reports?" He and B.J. met eyes. He could feel a smile coming on. "Charles, are you in contact with Klinger?"

"Of course!" Charles scoffed. He glanced between the two men as he said matter-of-factly, "He sends each of us letters detailing..." The first hint of uncertainty appeared on his face as he took in the continued looks of surprise from his friends. "...the latest news in their search for..." By this point, he was completely aware of the embarrassment he had trundled into. "...Soon-Lee's parents," he finished. Already he was cringing, well aware of the teasing that awaited him.

Sure enough, Hawkeye turned towards B.J. with unfettered glee. "I never got any letters. Did you get any letters, Beej?"

"No, not me," B.J. said with exaggerated innocence. "Radar?"

"I never heard a peep!" Radar's eyebrows pulled together, a genuine look of affront on his face. "Boy! You think you _know_ a guy and then—"

With a sugary smile aimed at the Major, B.J. said, "That's rather sweet, Hawk, wouldn't you say?"

"Do you think Colonel Potter was lucky enough to receive these _missives_ as well, or is Charles the only one to be granted that high honor?" Hawkeye returned.

Charles looked as though he'd stepped in dog excrement.

"If you gentlemen will excuse me," he said, "I think I'll be taking my leave now. I must go... elsewhere." With that, he disappeared into the crowd.

Hawkeye laughed. "Aw, Charles, come back!" he called. His request went rather unsurprisingly ignored.

"Can you believe that?" said B.J., still smiling at Charles's retreating figure.

"You know, weirdly enough, I can?" said Hawkeye. Then he remembered himself and he spun back to face Radar and Patty, who had gone ignored during their interlude of mockery. "But look at us, Beej, we're being rude! We still haven't formally met our young friend's lady friend."

The lady in question did not appear to mind. If anything, she seemed amused. "Dr. Pierce. That's right, isn't it?" she said, holding out a hand for him to shake.

"Hawkeye, please," he said. "Radar's told us a lot about you in his letters."

"You too," she said. "I mean, not in letters. Still, I almost can't believe I'm really seeing you, in real life. I mean, I've seen pictures, but..." Patty laughed at herself. "Well, nevermind."

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Haven," said B.J., taking his turn in shaking her hand.

Something caught Hawkeye's eye. He latched onto his friend's arm. "Beej."

"What?"

" _Beej_."

" _What_?"

"I don't think it _is_ 'Miss Haven.'"

"Hawk, what are you talking about?"

He squeezed. "Do my eyes need a new prescription or is that what I think it is?"

B.J. followed his gaze until his eyes alighted on the very object that had sent Hawkeye into such a tizzy. As surprised as the other man, it took him a moment to speak. Then, "Why, could you mean that little, golden, circular-shaped band on Miss Patty's finger? I do believe it is."

"Radar, you little rat!" Hawkeye exclaimed. A laughing Patty O'Reilly turned a big smile towards her husband— _husband_ —and looped her arm through his. "How could you not tell me you were getting married? I was going to give you away!"

Radar smiled, a bit sheepish but obviously pleased with himself. "I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. You weren't expecting that, huh Hawkeye?" Hands tucked in his pockets, he bounced on his toes, head lifted high.

"No, I certainly wasn't," agreed Hawkeye. "I don't suppose, ah, that anybody _else_ around here is expecting...?"

"Hawkeye!"

"What? I'm just asking!" At B.J.'s unchanged expression, he raised his arms in surrender. "All right, all right, I'm sorry. Forget I said anything."

"Actually," said B.J., staring past Hawkeye into the throng of veterans. "I hate to go so soon, but there's someone I need to see." Hawkeye tried to follow his line of sight, but this search was called to a halt when B.J. said, "I'll meet up with you later, Hawk," and then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

They both froze. The shock in B.J.'s eyes showed that the kiss had been a mistake, an unconscious gesture. Perhaps hoping it would go unnoticed if they simply didn't call any attention to it, he turned on his heel and left, acting as though this were the most casual exit in the world.

Hawkeye watched him go, the all-too-familiar pang of abandonment in his chest. _How could he leave me to deal with this on my own?_ he thought.

Even so, he couldn't tear his eyes away. Because he knew that, once he did, there was nowhere to look but back at Radar. Radar, his friend. Radar, the innocent farm boy who had yet to say anything after witnessing this exceptionally non-heterosexual display from two of his role models.

Radar, whose censure had broken Hawkeye's heart once before and he feared would now do again.

Almost dazed by panic, Hawkeye watched B.J. approach someone. Someone whose blond hair and glasses came into focus as he turned around at B.J.'s touch on his shoulder.

Father Mulcahy beamed up at the doctor. This smile snapped Hawkeye's emotions back into place and he felt his heart swell at the sight of his old friend. He made a mental note to save time for Father Mulcahy later on in the evening. For the time being, however... He turned back to face Radar. Prepared to meet... anything.

Except fondness.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

Radar turned his smile towards his wife. "Aren't they just like I told you, Patty?" he said. "Always teasin' and flirtin' with everybody, even each other. You don't ever know what to expect!"

Something constricted Hawkeye's heart as he realized what was happening. B.J. had been right after all. Treating it casually was all it took to hide the truth. Radar thought that he and B.J. were just playing around, like they always did. He had no idea of the truth of their feelings for one another. Hawkeye ought to be relieved.

He wasn't. He stared down at the floor, trying to collect himself.

"But if you think that _that's_ something," Radar was saying, "you oughta seen Captain Pierce back when he was with Captain McIntyre. Boy, I never seen two guys act like they did! Dancing and laughing and touching all the time. If they hadn'ta always been chasing the nurses, well, I think Major Burns might've tried to have them kicked out of the army!"

 _No, this is better,_ Hawkeye thought. Better for Radar to live on in blissful ignorance than be faced with a moral quandary he would have no ability to understand much less judge. This was better. Maybe it wasn't perfect, but...

His eyes found Charles across the room, where he stood in conference with Nurse Kellye. He'd already been luckier than he'd dared hope for. In an imperfect world, sometimes you had to settle. Take the victories where you could get them and leave the other battles well enough alone.

"I think it's kinda nice how everybody stays the same," said Radar. Hawkeye turned his attention back to the young man. "Even when they change, they're still sorta the same like they've always been. Almost like no time has passed at all." His cheeks began to pinken. He looked down at his feet. "Or I don't know, maybe I'm not making a whole lot of sense."

Chuckling, Hawkeye put a hand on his shoulder. "Radar, you're making more sense than I ever heard out of a single general in the U.S. army."

Radar broke into a big, silly grin and shoved Hawkeye. "Quit kidding. I know _that_ doesn't mean anything."

Hawkeye laughed. "All right, you've got me there," he said. "Nevertheless, as your doctor I declare you totally fit and sound of mind, your sense perfectly intact! And all jokes aside, I... I know what you mean. Believe me, I do."

To his surprise, Radar's eyes grew slightly damp at this. "It's real good to see you, sir." He gave a shaky smile. "I really missed... well, you know..."

There was a lump in Hawkeye's throat that hadn't been there moments before. He looked away, hoping this might stall the waterworks. Finally he had to let go.

"Oh, for... Come here," he said, and proceeded to pull Radar into a rib-crushing hug. Radar clutched at the back of his jacket. Vaguely he heard Patty say something about searching out two grape Nehis, then the next thing he knew, he and Radar were alone.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye to you, Hawkeye," Radar said, his words muffled in Hawkeye's chest.

Hawkeye felt his chin wobble. He moved one hand to the back of Radar's head as the first tear made its way down his cheek.

"No," he said. "No, you don't apologize for that, all right? It was my fault. _I'm_ the one who's sorry. I was... scared and hurting and I took that out on you when I shouldn't have. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Radar." He held even tighter.

"If you're going to suffocate our company clerk, Pierce, at least give others a chance to say hello to him first."

The two men split apart. Hawkeye let out a happy, "Hey! Margaret!" at the same time as Radar said, "Oh, Major Houlihan!" The boy surreptitiously wiped at his eyes as Hawkeye tried to do the same. Margaret watched them both with a knowing smile.

"Well, Radar," she said. "Don't I get a hug too?"

Radar complied, letting her pull him against her in a sideways hug. When she let go, he smiled at her. "Wow," he said. "I gotta say, Major, I didn't really think that I would, but over the past couple of years I've really missed having you to boss me around and all, sir." His eyes grew wide as hers began to narrow. "I mean, _ma'am_."

Snorting, Margaret shook her head. "I can see you haven't changed."

"You can take the corporal out of Iowa..." agreed Hawkeye. He ruffled the shorter man's hair, ignoring the indignant response.

Margaret turned to Hawkeye then. Her smile became softer.

And then she smirked. "I've even missed _you_ at times, Pierce," she said. "Lord knows I never thought I'd be saying that."

"Isn't that supposed to be _my_ line?" he teased.

She rolled her eyes, drawing an honest grin out of him. Then she put out her arms. "Oh, just get over here."

He joyfully swept her up into a hug, squeezing tight. Her arms wrapped around him, her head tucked next to his. Margaret was solid, and real, and having her in his arms lifted the weight of a thousand memories off his shoulders.

Perhaps more than anyone else, he and Margaret had gone through the war _together_ , all the way from beginning to end. First as enemies, then as friends, then as something more. Something he had no name for. Margaret was his tether to sanity for a place inside him that no one else could reach, not Sidney Freedman, not Trapper, not even B.J. Her friendship had become one of the most important of his life. He'd missed her.

Before he'd even begun to think of releasing his grip, her voice said in his ear, "I think we've got an audience, Hawkeye."

He reluctantly let go and turned to see who she meant.

Who she meant was Frank 'Ferret Face' Burns. Frank stared at them from the side of the room where he stood alone, cradling a drink—non-alcoholic, Hawkeye would stake his career on it—in his hand. The ice in his cup rattled back and forth as he fidgeted. The only steady part of him was the direction of his angry gaze. He started to move towards them.

"Uh oh," said Radar.

"Oh God," said Margaret. "He's coming over here, isn't he?"

"Be nice," Hawkeye murmured, like a parent reminding their child not to tease the weird kid in class.

"I will be whatever his attitude warrants," she said smartly. They continued to watch Frank's approach, the ferrety man made even more unattractive by the sulking expression on his face. Just before he reached them, Hawkeye heard Margaret mutter under her breath, "God, what on _Earth_ was I thinking..."

He bit his lip. Just as quietly, he answered, "You're not the first to wonder."

It was as Margaret smacked Hawkeye on the arm, getting a laugh in response, that Frank stopped in front of them. He shot Hawkeye a disdainful glance.

"Pierce," he said.

Hawkeye contracted his brow in a mockingly serious fashion. "Burns," he intoned.

Then Frank turned his attention to Margaret, failing even to acknowledge Radar's presence. Posture military straight, expression even straighter, it could not have been more obvious that he was trying to pretend like this was a meeting of casual acquaintances.

He nodded. "Major Houlihan."

Margaret sighed. "You can call me by my first name, Frank," she said. "We're not in the army anymore, there's no need for us to address one another with proper titles."

Away went the façade. Frank blinked and blinked again, his face twisting into something unpleasant.

"Oh, _sure_ ," he said. "You're just saying that because you don't want to call me Lieutenant Colonel! Don't like that I'm your superior now, _do_ you?"

Hawkeye flung out an arm, catching Margaret around the waist and stopping her forward momentum as she made a threatening movement towards the smaller man. Frank jerked backwards, the ice in his drink rattling. As soon as it became clear that Hawkeye's body was shielding him, however, he sneered.

"Well!" he said, his body trembling, nose held up high. "That just proves it, doesn't it! I was _right_! Oh, I _knew_ you'd go straight over to Pierce as soon as I was gone. I knew you wanted him all along, you were just waiting to—"

This time it was Radar who jumped in the middle as Hawkeye and Margaret _both_ lunged towards Frank. Frank let out a squeal and stumbled away, wide eyes locked on his two would-be attackers.

"No, sirs, don't!" said Radar, his arms stretched out to the sides. "Please don't brawl, not here! It's not supposed to be like that. He's just sad, is all, can't you see that?"

Teeth ground together, Hawkeye broke off glaring at Frank long enough to look into Radar's earnest expression. He felt the rage leave him. Still, his pulse raced with adrenaline. He looked back at Frank.

"Go bury your head in a bucket of sand, Frank," he snapped. Not his wittiest repartee, but it served its purpose well enough. Frank scampered off in fear.

Hawkeye sighed.

"Was that man always such a... a _louse_?"

He turned to Margaret. She was still glaring after the departed man, her hands in fists at her sides.

"Worse," said Hawkeye. "Hard to believe, I know. Rose-colored glasses will do that to you."

She grew even more stiff. He put a gentle hand on her arm.

"They've done it to _all_ of us at one time or another."

Margaret looked up at him. Slowly the anger and the embarrassment melted away, her body relaxing under his grip.

"Try not to let him get to you." At the look of disbelief this got him, he threw up his hands with a grin. "I know, I know. Pot meet kettle. But what Radar said was right."

The clerk perked up. "It was?"

Hawkeye laughed. "Yes, it was." Then to Margaret, " _You_ don't, but Frank still has those rose-colored glasses on and a green pair to boot. It's enough to give anybody a headache, believe me."

"I said that?" Radar muttered to himself, perplexed.

Hawkeye smiled but ignored his young friend, staying focused on Margaret instead. "You can't blame him too much for what he says or does as a result."

"I can blame him just as much as I'd like to," said Margaret. Still, it was clear from her expression that she understood what he was saying and had let it calm her.

Somewhat.

She smiled warmly at him. "Well. I suppose I'd better go and visit with my nurses."

"Only if I can join you," was Hawkeye's reply. She ignored his waggling eyebrows and lascivious smile as a matter of course.

"I'll see you later, Hawkeye."

He slipped his hand into one of hers before she could pull away. "Is that a promise?"

She squeezed once. "It is."

With one final look, she was gone. He watched her sift through the crowd towards a gaggle of females congregated near the refreshment table.

Which, now that he thought about it, didn't sound like such a bad idea.

"Hey, Radar," he said. "I'm going to get myself a drink, do you want anything? Grape Nehi, perhaps? Or have we upgraded to something a little stronger like, say, coca cola?"

"Uh, sir." At a tug to his sleeve, he turned towards the other man. Radar was staring at something ahead of him, a smile growing on his face. He lifted his eyes to Hawkeye's. "There's somebody just arrived that I think you're gonna want to see."

He shot a glance over his shoulder without really looking. "Who?" But by the time he turned back around, Radar had gone. Possibly in search of grape Nehi, possibly in search of his wife— _wife_! A shiver went down Hawkeye's spine. That would take some getting used to.

 _Nevermind that_ , he scolded himself. _Now who...?_

He turned. Only to see, standing in the doorway, the golden, glowing visage of one Trapper John McIntyre. His breath caught.

Trapper had already spotted Hawkeye. He rushed over now, so swiftly that, almost before he knew what was happening, Hawkeye found himself wrapped up in a tight embrace. He responded energetically, pounding his friend on the back. His other hand dove into soft curls, as if only by feeling them himself could he be assured of their realness.

When they finally released one another, Trapper grinned, put both hands on Hawkeye's cheeks, and planted a loud kiss on him. There was a familiar 'Trapper John' lightheartedness and whimsy in the gesture; even so, for a moment Hawkeye was struck dumb. They'd done plenty of things before, many arguably less platonic than that, but they'd still never crossed _that_ particular line. Why had Trapper chosen to cross it now? Just in the spirit of the moment, because he missed Hawkeye so much?

Then he saw the mischievous gleam in Trapper's eye.

Barely restraining a laugh, he shook his head and narrowed his eyes. "Are you trying to get me in trouble?" he asked, loudly enough to be heard over the din of everyone around them.

Trapper placed a hand to his chest. "Me?" he said. "Trouble? Of course not! I just thought I'd help you out! I figure if everybody sees you kissing _one_ guy, then they won't be so surprised if you kiss _two_."

"Ah, so _that's_ why no one batted an eye when I dipped and kissed B.J. in the middle of the dance floor earlier," said Hawkeye.

An eyebrow raised. "Just how many boys you been kissing, Hawk?"

"Don't worry, only the ones over six feet," he assured. "All the rest ducked away from me too fast. Besides, you know how I like my tall men."

"Yeah yeah, Abe Lincoln, I know."

They grinned at each other. Then Trapper gestured off to the side, his lips lifting with a more salacious kind of humor. "Say, was that Hot Lips I saw you talk—"

" _Margaret_." All of Hawkeye's muscles were suddenly taut with anger. The long-unused nickname woke in him the memories of a self he'd rather forget, and his gut reacted violently against it. He clenched his fists by his sides. "Her name is _Margaret_."

Startled, Trapper stared at him. His countenance began to grow cold and unfamiliar. "Well, my _apologies_ , Captain Pierce," he said. "I didn't realize I was giving such offense."

Almost as soon as it had come, the anger dribbled away. Leaving only the shame and the regret. Hawkeye sighed. Tired hands rubbed against the creases in his forehead. "I'm sorry, Trap, I didn't mean it. My anger's not at you, it's at me. At..." He gestured vaguely. "All those things I used to be, and do. Sometimes I'm not very fond of that Benjamin Pierce. But I didn't mean to take it out on you."

Expression neutral, Trapper said, "You and Margaret got pretty close, huh?"

"Closer than close," said Hawkeye. "Margaret and I went through things together that I don't think anyone else could understand. In some ways, she... she's really as close a friend to me now as _you_ are."

There was the space of a breath. Then Trapper softened. "It's kinda hard to imagine," he said, his smile teasing but gentle. An olive branch.

Hawkeye huffed. "Imagine _living_ it. No one was more surprised than I was, _believe_ me."

Trapper nodded but said nothing, letting the solemn turn of their conversation settle comfortably between them. After a moment, Hawkeye remembered what was missing from this picture and made a show of looking around.

"Where are the girls?" he asked.

"Aw, they were all tired from the flight," said Trapper. "So they're taking a quick nap before joining the hullabaloo down here. They're all looking forward to seeing you though, Hawk. And _Becky_ is especially looking forward to seeing _Frank_." He gave Hawkeye a much put-upon look. Laughing, Hawkeye could almost envision the martini that Trapper would no doubt be guzzling at that moment if he had one.

"I can't wait to see that," he said. "Even better, for _Margaret_ to see that. I'm not sure what the shock will do to her, but we should probably be on hand in case medical attention is needed."

Trapper laughed. Then he sent his own considering glance around the space near Hawkeye. " _So_ ," he said, and already Hawkeye could hear the suggestive lilt to his voice. "When do I get to meet this fella of yours, eh Hawkeye?"

Smiling—the mere thought of B.J. could do that to him—Hawkeye said, "Soon, I promise. He's around here somewhere." He started to search through the crowd. "Last I saw, he was with Father Mulcahy... Ah-ha! _There_ he is."

He pointed, and Trapper turned to look at the same thing Hawkeye was looking at: B.J., surrounded by women. Namely a group of adoring nurses, all of whom were fawning over Erin and becoming friendly with Peg.

"He's the one with the mustache," Hawkeye said, smirking.

Staring across the room at the man in question, Trapper's eyebrows went up. "No kidding! That's him?"

"What?"

"Well, nothing. It's just, he's a very manly guy, isn't he?"

"So?" asked Hawkeye.

Trapper shrugged. "Wouldn'ta figured, is all. Thought your type was more, oh you know... soft. Feminine." He turned towards Hawkeye, a twinkle in his eyes. "Least the male nurses _I_ caught you with always were."

Hawkeye grinned. "What, a guy can't change his mind?" he said, before looking back at his partner.

As though summoned by their thoughts, B.J. looked up at that precise moment, catching their gazes on him. Hawkeye felt a rush of anticipation as he watched B.J. make his goodbyes to the women before heading their way. As eager as he was for B.J. and Trapper to meet, there was also some panic at the thought of his two worlds colliding, and the fear that their collision would result in something painful rather than pleasant.

It did little to help his stomach when, after planting himself at Hawkeye's side, B.J. greeted Trapper with a smile that, while friendly, was easily identifiable as _uncertain_. He wanted so badly for his two best friends to get along. But he feared that B.J.'s history with the other man, even by reputation only, would sully whatever chance they had. He struggled not to be too obvious as he took a deep breath.

All politeness, B.J. nodded to Trapper and said, "You must be Captain McIntyre."

Hawkeye's pulse pounded beneath his skin. Trapper turned towards him, eyes wide.

"Hawk," he said, "did this joker just call me Captain?"

B.J. immediately relaxed, head dropping as his smile turned somewhat abashed yet far more sincere. Hawkeye was so relieved he could have laughed out loud. Or cried. Instead he adopted as serious a look as his friend.

"I'm afraid so," he said gravely.

"I'm offended! Didn't you ever teach him proper military manners?"

"You wouldn't believe how long it took just to get him to stop saluting," Hawkeye shot back.

At this, Trapper's lips quirked. "Well. Not everyone can have our natural talent for disobedience."

"Ha! You think that now, but just put a hammer and nail in his hands, and see what happens to your _boot_."

Smiling as he watched this interaction, B.J. now stuck out a hand, saying, "My sincerest apologies, Trapper. It's nice to finally meet the legend in person."

Trapper paused in the midst of shaking B.J.'s hand, a big grin on his face. "Legend?" he said. "Hey, I like the sound of that!"

Hawkeye snorted. "Don't like it _too_ much." He jerked a thumb towards B.J. "You were only a legend until the son of Bea and Jay over here ousted you as reigning champion of practical jokes."

Clearly impressed, Trapper turned to B.J. with raised eyebrows. "You don't say? You keep Hawkeye on his toes for me?"

"I once got him to sleep outside in a five-by-two rectangle of barbed wire for fear of what I'd do to him," said B.J.

Trapper gaped, and when no further information was provided, said, " _So_? What'd you _do_?"

Expression unchanged, B.J. repeated, "I got him to sleep outside in a five-by-two rectangle of barbed wire for fear of what I'd do to him. Didn't you hear me?"

There was the briefest of pauses as Trapper took this in. Then his grin became so wide that Hawkeye worried about his cheeks actually splitting. Pride towards his lover crashed over Hawkeye like a tidal wave, and he wanted nothing so much as to pull B.J. into a passionate embrace right there and then.

Externally, he pouted.

"They teamed up on me, Trap!" he exclaimed.

"They who?" Trapper's smile was calmer now, but no less gleeful.

"They _everybody_! Colonel Potter, Margaret, Father Mulcahy, Charles—"

"Don't forget Klinger," B.J. interjected. "His performance was a real bang."

"One big conspiracy!" said Hawkeye. "All so I'd stand on a table with no pants on and sing 'You're the Top' to _this_ guy."

"Is that right?" asked Trapper. He looked back and forth between the two men, a smile pulling at his lips. After a moment he said, "Well you know what, Hawk?"

Hawkeye paused, wary of the glint in his friend's eye. "What?" he asked.

Trapper grinned. "I think your top and I are gonna get along just fine."

And as B.J. and Trapper howled with laughter, tears streaming from their eyes, both ignoring their friend's crossed arms and unamused glare, Hawkeye knew that this here was the happiest moment of his life, and he could not have been more grateful for all the messy, winding journey that had let it come to pass.

* * *

 _A/N: Keep your eyes out for the epilogue! One last, cute chapter with our boys. I wish you all well!_


End file.
